


Rosie Watson's Diary

by Orenbeval



Series: Rosie Watson's Diary [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BSL, Diary, F/F, Feminism, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, Lesbian Character, M/M, Parentlock, Rosie Watson's Diary, Teenagers, rainbow family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orenbeval/pseuds/Orenbeval
Summary: Well...Rosie Watson is 13 years old.She is an *almost* grown up, big enough to make her own decisions. And on that day, January 29, 2030, she decided that Sherlock Holmes should officially be recognized as her other father. He already is her Daddy's husband and he raised her. So... let's go for Court agreement and let's make her family unbreakable !Little did Rosie expect that preparing for a happy future would wake up some sleeping demons from another age, a dark and mysterious past she wasn't even part of.But Rosie being the daughter of both her fathers: she wants to understand.So she investigates.And tells us about all this.





	1. First week : 29/01/2030 - 04/02/2030

**Author's Note:**

> Hello !
> 
> This is my first ever work on this website.  
> I don't really know how all this works.  
> It's also the first ime I write in English... (I am no native speaker).  
> I am *curious* to see what all this may bring. Maybe nothing. Hé hé.
> 
> Rosie writes in her diary about every day (on Tumblr) but here, it will be updated once a week I guess.
> 
> I don't even know if anyone is going to read this... ^^'
> 
> Bu anyway, I am already having fun. So... :)

**Wednesday - 30/02/2030 - part 1**

Well. I am 13 now.

I am _almost_ an adult, I KNOW what I want, I am BIG enough to make my OWN decisions, regardless of what Daddy is implying, like… every day. He has no idea, he is sooo old. And sooo out of fashion. Anyway, what was I saying ?

Ah yes. Decisions.

So, yesterday, I made two major decisions :

1) I will no longer sleep with Mrs Honeybee. This does not suit for an almost adult woman with responsibilities. She will have, from now on, to seat on the shelf. I am big enough, I don’t need to sleep with a stuffed Bumblebee missing an antenna and an eye.

2) I want to officially be recognized as William Sherlock Scott Holmes’ daughter. I mean… He has been my Daddy’s husband for like 5 years now, and I don’t even remember a time where he was not part of my… of our family. Sherlock and Daddy are my parents, period. Even if that makes me the official niece of that strange and creepy Mycroft dude. I don’t care. It has been 13 years. Long enough to make things official and unbreakable.

Actually I wanted this to be done yesterday, you know, the 29th of January. This is a VERY special day in our family. Has always been, will ever be, I guess. I hope so. Therefore I had prepared everything and put all the papers on the kitchen table. I had even done the dishes, done my housework, everything was PERFECT. However, they came home from Angelo’s waaaay to… _busy_ (and drunk)… to notice anything and went (almost) straight to bed (I don’t think they brushed their teeth… I might talk about this to Daddy, next time he pisses me off with bloody tooth brushing)… However, I wasn’t sleeping, OF COURSE NOT. I wanted to SEE their reaction, be part of their happiness. I was sitting on top of the stairs (yes, with Mrs Honeybee), peering through the ramp bars and… well, all I got to see was… _irk_ , I honestly didn’t think that old people (like over 45) could actually kiss _that_ intense. I did not stay to watch more. I mean… _irk_. I went to bed. Quite disappointed. ANYWAY, the papers were still on the table this morning. And of course, as I was sleeping, I missed the whole “Daddy and Sherlock finding the papers” part. But this allowed me to play it cool. I LOVE playing it cool because this annoys Daddy sooooo much. I could act like… it was nothing. Like I did not spend the last 3 months with Molly reading countless internet pages, calling countless clerks and running from one office to another, even going to some special “ _LGBT parenting support organizations_ ” to get the right information and the rights papers. I wanted this to be PERFECT, so I made sure it would be. And it was. I said so : I am an _almost_ adult, I am a _responsible_ woman.

So, I was still sleeping when Daddy went up to wake me up. He usually slams the door open, turns the lights on, shouts me to wake up and goes straight to the window to open it. And he usually keeps shouting from downstairs while preparing breakfast till I go down. It’s our morning routine. (I wonder if as an almost grown woman, I should maybe use an alarm clock ?) Anyway, this morning, he did not slam the door open, he did not shout and did not go to the window. He gentle sat on my bed and stroke my cheek until I opened my eyes.

“Morning sunshine, my little darling.”

I wanted to tell something about “almost grown up and responsible therefore NOT LITTLE” but then I noticed that he had wet eyes. Had he cried ? Woaow… last time I had seen him cry… it was like on his wedding with… well with Sherlock, my _to-be-official_ second Dad.

“Rosie, my love… I am not good at such things, you know that… words are a difficult matter for me… I…”

And he only hugged me and muttered “thank you”. But I know my Daddy and I felt all the love and the gratitude and the happiness in that very tight, very special hug. I almost cried myself. Well… One or two tears do not count as crying, does it ?

Anyway, he ended the hug and said something about school and hurrying up and breakfast and to be careful with Sherlock this morning because… Well yes, as I went down the stairs like playing Ice Queen, I understood it better: Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing his usual dark green dressing gown over his smooth black pajama, his microscope and stuff put aside, my papers in his hands and he was like… _frozen_. Only moving things about him (beneath slight breathing, maybe) were his eyelids. Puzzling. Daddy gently put a hand on his neck and bent over his shoulder to murmur something at his ear but Sherlock did not seem to notice. So Daddy looked briefly at me and sighed with a half happy half slightly worried smile.

“Eat your breakfast Rosie, Honey.“

He went to the bathroom and I was left alone with frozen Sherlock. Well… I played it cool and ate my breakfast very almost adult alike. But he… _outfroze_ me, somehow. I finished breakfast, went up to my room, got dressed ( _gnh_ , Daddy had still not done the laundry… my pink trousers were not available, I had to settle on the yellow ones… but they do not fit my new shirt that well and… _anyway_ ) and as I went down to brush my teeth (sigh), Sherlock was still frozen. Daddy, full dressed and clean shaved, was sitting in front of him, trying somehow to make him unfreeze by talking while gentle trying to take the papers out of his hands. Didn’t seem to work. Well, I took my bag, my coat and went to kiss Daddy goodbye, not really sure what to do with Sherlock… I decided to play it cool and did as usual : I punched him in the shoulder and wished him a nice day. He didn’t react. I met my Daddy’s gaze and we both exchanged a somewhat puzzled smile. Anyway, I had to left. I was already late.

Later than usual.

Later, during first morning break, I got an sms :

“Watson, we might talk. Will pick you up after school –SH”

And just afterwards I got a second one :

“:) - SH”

Can’t wait for the school to finish for today.

***

**Wednesday - 30/01/2030 - part 2**

At school end (FINALLY, this booooring maths lecture had come to an end AT LEAST, oh GOD I swear I could kill Mr. O’Tool and his deadly über-illogical way to look at things and to justify every extravagance by calling it “algebra”… though math is the only class during which I get the opportunity to sit next to Heather, this… well, never mind), he was standing there, on the opposed sidewalk, looking straight into the school entrance. His dark coat and dark curls were lazily blown and twisted by the mild wind, his eternal blue scarf was hanging loose around his neck, his aura was as mighty as always, making most people glance at him while passing by. Sherlock is SO über-cool… I don’t get it that Daddy, after sooo many years of shared life, still doesn’t manage to buy ONE nice looking shirt (Hell, I have been trying for _ages_ to make him buy at least white shirts if coloured ones are too complicated to handle but there is NO WAY to get him rid of his crooked habit of buying the most ugliest possible tiled shirts) and to match it with ONE of his dull trousers at least ONE day in a week. No… there is definitively something missing there. And this is sooooo annoying ! Well… what was… ah yeah, Sherlock.

When he saw me, I saw his heart rise to his face and draw the most possible irradiating smile on his pale face. His eyes brightened up and he waved frantically at me like a total freak. Had it been Daddy, I would have _killed_ him, right here, in front of witnesses, _no hesitation_. But this was _Sherlock_. Sherlock and his –as Mrs H. always puts it- odd funny mind that nobody really gets to understand. With exception of Daddy maybe. And the creepy Mycroft dude. Never mind, Sherlock is entitled to wave at me like a silly-happy kid and to behave somewhat puppy alike in front of my school porch. NO ONE ELSE is, that should be said. So he was waving, drawing even more attention to him than already was. When I reached him, he ducked, as always, to look me right into the eyes while high-fiving me and I could see that his eyes were reddened. Did he… wait… really ?

“Watson, my dearest Bumblebee, would you be up for a warm drink and a slice of any sort of cake that would suit your taste in one or another coffee shops around the corner ? I might, as already mentioned, have to talk to you.”

“Of course, Sherlock, I would love to.”

He looked at me, still smiling by every inch of his face, nose included, while I was acting all ladylike and cool, and before I could add anything else, he just grabbed me, drove me against his chest and closed his arms around me, burying me in his dark coat. He hold me tight for more than a minute, saying nothing, his curls tickling my nose, his warmth, the softness of his jumper, and the fine smell of his expensive shampoo and aftershave wrapping me in his very presence. And I let him hug me in front of my school porch. I gave in. I would never, ever have refused this, no matter where and when. Never would I have refused a hug from Sherlock. Sherlock, my official “father-to-be”. Sherlock, my other Dad. The cool, handsome, famous one that everyone envies me, the messy sensitive and fragile one that nobody knows with exception of Daddy and me. Maybe Molly, Mrs H. and creepy Mycroft dude to a certain extend. Without him, the word “family” would make no sense, without him, Daddy would only be half of a soul and I would have to tell all my stories about Josh and Gethin and Heather to Mrs HoneyBee as Daddy has absolutely no understanding of… the really tense and _dramatic_ issues of all those stories. And suddenly, I could feel a tear sliding along his nose and he muttered :

“Rosie, my sweetheart… how would I ever be able to show you how… how… how… “

As no word seemed to fit his mind state, he just kept a few moment silent before bursting out in an almost unintelligible high-speed word flow mumbled in his lowest voice :

“Oh to hell with those bloody languages lacking of proper words as soon it comes to express a somewhat deeper feeling… I should have learnt a Shakespearian sonnet, or maybe some French poetry to be able to express what I actually feel here and now in a decent and civilized way, but meanwhile… all I have left is this hug… “

He took a deep breath, and pulling me even tighter to his chest, if possible, he went on, even faster, even lower :

“Thank you Rosamund Mary Watson, thank you. From the very bottom of my heart, thank you. Those adoption papers, this… invitation to enclose me forever in your life, this… For all I can say, if a father has ever been more proud of or has ever more loved his daughter, I might die. You are my very own Cordelia, my dearest dearest daughter by heart and soul, and… soon also, let’s hope, by Law. You can’t possibly imagine what this means to me, what this means to your Daddy, what… being allowed to be the other Daddy of such a brilliant and wise human like you means for such a freaky mess like me… This is such a joy, such an overwhelming privilege, I…”

I could feel a cluster of emotions slowly make my breath become a bit uneasy, somehow pushing some tears behind my eyes. Okay for the hug but _this_ was not to be allowed, this was too far un-cool. To keep it at least a bit under control, I managed to say, in a “oh by the way” tone I got to master this past year :

“Well, yeah, maybe. But do not count on me to call you anything else than Sherlock. I won’t call you… Dad or… Daddy or Lear or anything alike… and please, don’t call me anything else than Watson. Even if my full name will soon be Watson-Holmes. You see, I am almost an adult, it’s too late to change those old habits, I am too old.”

He did not answer anything, he just laughed.

“Of course, Watson my dearest Bumblebee queen.”

He pulled me back and went up. He put a hand on my neck and took my school bag.

“So, what are the news, then, Watson ? Was Mr. O’Tool as dull and boring as usual ? And did you manage to talk to Heather or do we still have to work on that ?”

***

**Thursday - 31/01/2030**

So, yesterday, after the big hug, Sherlock and I went to some nice and cosy place where I ordered a giant coffee latte and a giant carrot cake part with extra toping and cream and Sherlock, amazingly (as he usually kind of never eats anything Daddy does not force him to), ordered a chocolate cookie and had a cup of tea. Amazing mood. After a few sips, he looked straight at my face :

“Watson, sensitive stuff put aside, this is serious matter. There is no possible back stepping once a Court has given me Parental Responsibility. You… _know_ this?”

I refused to answer. This was so Daddy alike and not _sherlockian_ in the slightest way. He noticed my look and had a fugitive smile.

“Well, yes, _of course_ you know, obviously.”

“Yes, of course I know, obviously.”

There was a moment of silence. He looked down on his cookie, tore a bit apart, then another bit, then smashed the bit between his fingers, then licked his chocolated thumb and eventually rose his gaze to meet mine. He looked suddenly very shy.

“Watson, even if the adoption is granted by Court and I become your official parent, I will never replace… your mother, you know that, don’t you?”

I refused to answer, once again. He blushed a bit.

“Of course, you know this.”

“Of course, I know this.”

I mean, of course I know I have a mother, Mary Watson, I even have a picture of her and Daddy at their wedding, I have a picture of her being pregnant and a picture of her and Daddy (and Sherlock and Molly and Mrs H.) at my Christening and several other pictures of her and me as an infant. And I like her, yes I do. It’s an uneasy topic that is merely never talked about and that makes Daddy and Sherlock utterly uncomfortable each time it is approached, but from what I could grasp from Molly and Mrs H. she was kind of a tough woman. I mean… Daddy married her so she must have been. I don’t _know_ her. It’s quite a bit odd to like her without _actually_ knowing her but “it is what it is” as Daddy often says.

I used, on purpose, my snappy tone usually aimed at Daddy when he starts sneaking around in my private life:

“Well, Sherlock, even if you were _trying_ to replace her, I wouldn’t notice, as I barely met her. This is more a topic you should discuss with Daddy.”

Very cool, very ladylike. I had become really good at that! Great! However, he did not answer. He just nodded. A sneaky smile started to appear on his lips. Ow…

“Well, of course, you _already_ discussed the matter with him.”

“Yes.”

Both of us smiled. I turned my attention to my cake.

“You look like her. You’ve got her smile.”

“Well… great.”

No idea what else, I should have said. He looked at me kindly while slightly stroking over his shirt, just above his heart. He always… ALWAYS does this when the topic of my mother is raised. I don’t know what this is about. I am not sure I want to know. Maybe not yet. Maybe when I will be a full grown adult. Now he was joining his extended fingers under his kin. This was sign of serious matter to be said…

“Watson, also… in making our… relation… official… there would be no escape anymore if things turned out to reveal themselves to be… tough…”

“What?”

“Well, there is quite a difference between having a passed away mother and a widowed father remarried to a man and… having two fathers.”

I looked at him, incredulous. What? Really?

“Sherlock, hell, how long did you sit at this table listening to Daddy’s bullshit? What is that all about? Don’t tell me you think that it makes the slightest difference to people who want to be assholes that you are or are not my father by Law… I mean… I live with you, you raised me… you already _are_ my parents!!! Everyone knows that _Sherlock Holmes_ is married to _John Watson_ and that they have a daughter… I mean… You twitted it yourself while totally drunk the very first evening you were married… _who_ the hell do you think does not know about your marriage and about… me? Do you really think that anyone looks into my Birth Act before throwing insults at my face ? Do you really think I keep answering like… ehm, please, take your insult back because technically you’re wrong as Sherlock Holmes is not my Dad by Law? Really???”

I was speechless. I started to be furious. What the heck…

He seemed to be puzzled, a bit ashamed and… slowly turned out to be deeply moved. Moved to tears actually.

“You Watsons, you… both of you…”

There was no word added for at least fifteen minutes. His phone kept buzzing, he did not look at it. He was silently crying, trying to (lol) hide it by wiping his cheeks with his sleeves. I was not paying attention. I used the opportunity to answer Yifan an Kiara’s texts and had a funny exchange with them: Yifan and Kiara were on a shopping tour for next Friday’s party at Henry’s and they had offered to buy stuff for me as well as I had to meet Sherlock. They were sending me pictures, I had to rate them. This was welcome, Sherlock needed the privacy, I could sense it. When I put my phone back on the table, he had calmed down a bit and the tea cup was empty. He slowly settled his attention back on me. His face was deadly serious. His voice was so low, I hardly heard him:

“Watson, my dearest, you should also know that… I used to be a… smack head as Mrs Hudson uses to call people like this. A junkie, a drug addict. I… this might come back any time and… being officially part of my… family might charge you with responsibilities you would maybe not have expected in…”

This was too much. I was actually getting really furious. I HATE it when adults, especially the ones who are _supposed_ to know me, don’t take me seriously.

“Sherlock… I have known that for _ages_. You really think people don’t talk about you and your past when I am in the room? Hell you are naïve ! Even Daddy told me about your “old unhealthy habits” one day when I was asking him what all those subtexts were about!”

He slightly tilted his head and had a shy look to his smashed cookie.

“Sherlock, I want you to be my _official_ Dad. I want you to _adopt_ me, I want us three to be a family that nobody can question or deny or tear appart. Period. And before you ask or say anything else, yes, I have thought about _everything_. I mean… _Molly_ helped me to gather all the information and the papers. You bet she asked me every single question there is to ask and pointed out every single detail one has to be aware of. I am deadly serious and I KNOW what I am asking for.”

He swallowed hard. And suddenly putting a cookie bit in his mouth, asked :

“Why is poor Mrs HoneyBee sitting on the shelf?”

I took a very ladylike coffee latte sip and gestured in a very cool and mature way:

“I am an almost grown adult. I don’t need her anymore, I can sleep on my own.”

My phone buzzed : Yifan was sending a new picture of some new funny hat. I showed it to Sherlock and took his advice over Yifan and Kiara’s pictures. Sherlock advice about fashion are always welcome, by every one of my friends, even if it is about funny pig ears hats. Sherlock is SO cool. And he is MY Dad.

***

**Friday - 01/02/2030 - part 1**

Well, today it’s Friday, Party at Henry’s is for TONIGHT. This, added to all the stuff that happened the last few days completely prevents me from even trying to concentrate on this mock-course that claims having something to do with maths. I HATE maths. At least this kind of maths.

Following Sherlock’s advice, Yifan, Kiara and I settled for the Elephant eared hats. Three different colours. I chose the pink one. I always do. Sherlock agreed on my choice and when we went home, after I had eaten up all of my giant cake, he helped me choosing the perfect suiting outfit. Looks MATTER, no matter what Daddy keeps saying day in, day out. Looks matter ESPECIALLY when I will have to attend a party hosted by Henry. We were in the bathroom, trying to figure out where my beloved pink trousers were, Sherlock sitting, arms folded around his bent legs, in the empty bath tub and myself browsing through the laundry bag, when Daddy suddenly stood behind us in the bathroom entrance.

“What, for God’s sake are you…”

I jumped on my feet and faced him, red and sweaty and desperate :

“Daddy, my pink pants ? Where are my pink pants?”

“Honey, well… I guess they are still stuck in the washing machine if my beloved husband presently seated in this very bath tub did not take them out as he was supposed to, two days ago…”

Sherlock suddenly froze and his gaze moved swiftly towards the closed washing machine. He swallowed hard and adjusted a half guilty half “I am soooo sorry, please don’t bite me” puppy smile. I rushed to the washing machine and screamed :

“Whaaa Sherlock!!!”

He said “oops” and shrugged.

While I was tearing said machine open and was –FINALLY- fishing my pink pants out of it, Daddy went closer, bent over the bath tub border and gave Sherlock the first of the billions of small and tender kisses (please, just insert a little heart with flappy wings, here…) he would give him tonight, like every night. And like ALWAYS, Sherlock closed his eyes.

“Well, I don’t know but I kinda know someone who keeps saying that people are PREDICTIBLE, DULL and BORING and that…”

“Rosie Miss, have you done your housework ?”

I swear, one day I will just kill him. KILL HIM. However, playing it cool and ladylike, I managed to give a very mature answer about being sufficiently grown up to be able to take care of my own business by myself, _thank you_.

“I think John, your daughter is…”

Sherlock suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence. There was an odd silence. The kind of silence when everyone knows someone just said something inappropriate but no one actually knows how to verbalize it without hurting any feelings. Yeah, I know… I spend most of my time with Keira and Yifan, I have a certain experience in *awkward* silences following some silly sentence someone just said without thinking. Like… I always wonder how someone can actually pretend speaking _without thinking_? Without knowing, yes, this is a possibilility, of course… but _without thinking_? Is this biologically even a possibility ? I mean… _er_ , well, yes, back to the bathroom. Well, the chilled atmosphere had turned awkward and serious but as Sherlock seemend to relax a bit, it was then turning into something more intimate : Sherlock sitting in that empty bath tub, leaning into Daddy’s arm, Daddy who was still wearing his hat and myself, facing both of them, my wet pink trousers in my hands, we were all silently glancing at each other, shyly at first, then more and more confident and eventually I burst into laughter and rushed to both of them, _my daddies_ , smacking each of them on their cheeks :

“I think John _and_ Sherlock, _your_ daughter is…”

Daddy interrupted me and pulled me closer with his free arm to hug me against his free hip. He gently squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and smiled down at him.

“I think Sherlock, _our_ daughter is deflecting, isn’t she ?”

Sherlock just swallowed hard. He didn’t say anything and was breathing quite heavily. His gaze was unfocusing and swirling around the bathroom, like he was looking for an emergency exit or so. Had I already seen this ? Well he seemed to relax when Daddy gently squeezed his shoulder again and eventually muttered : “I think John… our… daughter is…”

But he never ended his sentence as he suddenly broke down sobbing into his hands. Daddy’s gaze immediately worried up, his forehead frowned. He took off his hat and kneeled down to take him in his arm (over the bath tub edge, I heard all his poor bones crack lmao), tenderly rubbing his back. I was quite puzzled and uneased. Well, I am not used to see _grown men_ , not even speaking about _Sherlock_ , cry like kids twice in the same day. What…

“It’s all right Rosie, Honey, go iron your pants, sweetheart. Ask Mrs H. for help if you are worried to burn them. Maybe take your homework down to Mrs H. also. I will come down.”

I did as he said. I am almost an adult, I KNOW when I have to keep my mouth shut, I mean please.

Anyway, now I am DONE with maths, lunch time.

***

**Friday - 01/02/2030 - part 2**

Actually… I slept with Mrs Honeybee last night (YES, and the night before). I put her back on the shelf this morning. Because, as I am only an _almost_ grown up person, there are some things that I don’t really understand. And the “bathroom event of Wednesday” belongs to it. And they kind of frighten me. Adulthood is maybe a world I do not want to enter THAT soon, though.

Whatever.

So, Wednesday, I did as Daddy told me, went up to get my bag and went down the stairs into the living room but I ***accidentally*** overheard some bits of the serious conversation going on between my two Dads. They were talking about a time I was not even planned to fit in the picture. I don’t like it though… it makes me dizzy and somewhat sick to think that their life started before the very idea of me existed, that they actually did not need me in their life to be happy… That I just happened to be. I mean, well, yes, it’s the same for everyone but… still. It hurts in some way. Well while I was ***accidentally*** listening through the door Daddy had closed once I had left, Sherlock was mumbling in his lowest voice something about being a ridiculous and broken man and Daddy was saying like “shhhhhhht, it’s all going to be okay, Sherlock, I love you, she loves you, we love you, you deserve all of it, believe me.”

“This can’t be, John, this is all far too much… You Watsons have turned me into something I never planned to be, you…”

“Sherlock, we didn’t _turn_ you into anything. Your feelings are yours, we did not infuse you with them…”

“John, all this, this is too much, I can’t handle it. I…”

“Sherlock, of course you can handle this. You will have to learn how to handle it but you will. You are a smart man. We Watsons, and soon to be Watson-Holmes, love you and want you to be our family. And we know you want it too. Sherlock, trouble is, you are only used to… you only allows yourself to give, to commit, to worry, to help, to take care. Despite all I have been trying this last 13 years, you have still not gotten used to receive, to be worried for, to be taken care of… I guess Rosie just cornered you. Enjoy the new experiment, learn how it feels to accept to be loved. I had to, 13 years ago, you will have to learn it now. Your turn.”

“What is this nonsense of yours ? Of course I know you take care of me, of course I…”

“No Sherlock, you still believe somehow that I take care of you because I need you, because you take care of me, like a sort of pay back thing… In your crooked mind you married me but I just happen to be married to you… But this is wrong. I married you as much you married me. Same here… You have been thinking yourself as Rosie’s father since we moved back to 221B but never thought she might actually consider herself as your daughter. And here she is and you are losing it because you were unable to deduce it, even worse, to predict it. You are so off the hook as soon it comes to reciprocated feelings. You are a loved man, Sherlock. Not only a needed one. Admit it and make peace with that.”

“John, I can’t handle it. This is too much, if I enter this, I will not be able to cope the day it ends.”

“This is not gonna end, Sherlock. This is precisely all it is about : to make it unbreakable, forever lasting. We are family… _true_ family. There is no fraud here, nobody is going to take this away from you, not now that we… actually _talk_ to each other. You have landed. Safely, here, at home, our home. All considered, you _did_ land 13 years ago, when I finally woke up but now… Rosie nailed you here, to the ground. No fall any more. Neither I nor Rosie would let you. Because that’s how we love you.”

“John… If you… if you, you Watsons… if… you happened to leave me, I would not survive it. Seven percent solution would not make it bearable. Not anymore.”

“ See? You’re doomed. Only thing left: enjoying it.”

Even if I could hear the smile in my Daddy’s voice, it was not cheering me up. What was this thing about a seven percent solution? What actually was all this conversation about? Well, I was growing a bit anxious here. As seemed Sherlock. Or was it anger in his trembling voice?

“John, there is no joke, here. I’ve come to the crude realisation that… I would actually not be able to… live without you in my life. I bloody tried so hard to prevent such kind of dependence, I told myself for years that caring is NOT an advantage, I tried so hard to not fall into this… this trap, this _feelings trap_ and here I am… trapped with you and your daughter…”

“… _our_ daughter, Sherlock. _Our_ daughter.”

There was a silence and I could hear how Sherlock pronounced the next words like unfolding the wings of a very fragile an precious bird.

“Here I am trapped with you and _our_ daughter, caring to death.”

“There is no trap, here, Sherlock.”

“How not ? I am reduced to get used to the very idea that if you… suddenly, for any possible reason, decided to leave me, I would have to turn off the light. Nothing else would be bearable, I just deduced this, holding those Adoption Forms in my very hands, Wednesday. How could this not be a trap ? How is this acceptable ? How…”

“How come you are _so_ frightened of losing us ?”

There was a silence. And then, very low both in pitch and in volume:

“Why not ? It _happened once_ , it might happen again.”

His voice was so low… I could picture him mumbling at his lap, teeth grit, throat tight. I could also perfectly picture Daddy’s painfully guilty face while sighing. And then, in a tone I never heard him use before (who was this man speaking in my dad’s voice ???):

“This will _never_ happen again. Never, Sherlock. Trust us. Trust me. Trust her. Trust yourself, my love. You are not alone. I know I have given you the feeling that you were, some years ago, when I was so lost myself after you came back from Serbia… but there was a context, there had been two years of mourning and grieving… I was SO angry, SO desperate… I was SO trapped in my inability to word my feelings, I… well, this is gone, this is no more relevant. Because since I moved back, we actually, both of us, _talk_. Rosie made us and keeps us talking. And this changes everything. And… who knows…”

“Who knows what ?”

“Who knows if it’s not _you_ that will turn out being the one getting bored and looking for some new nest to settle in. _Just saying_.”

There was my Daddy back ! Well I knew for sure, just from his tone, that he was NOT “just saying”. I mean, I know my Dad. Sherlock does to. And his answer was exactly what I would have said:

“John, what…”

And here it was. This “don’t want to be angry but I am” tone Dad uses when he is hurt and doesn’t know how to speak about it:

“I heard _her_ texting you, on our anniversary. I heard _her_ text alarm. You never told me you still are in touch.”

I had not the slightest clue about who might be “her”. Molly ? Mrs H.? This made absolutely no sense… What the hell… was Sherlock _laughing_ now ? What was going on here ?

“John… oh John… not again… not still… Please, she is… she is married herself. Married to a woman. She… The Woman knows exactly WHAT that day represents for me… she KNOWS we are wed, she has always known we were a couple, she… actually… oh John, do yourself a favour, read it.”

“Has been 20 years, isn’t it ? Hope you’re having GREAT dinner tonight with your jealous Doctor.”

There was a brief silence. I heard the phone drop in the bath tub and I heard them move inside said bath tub. At that very point I decided the noises (sighs ? giggles ? kisses ? Well… _irk_ ) coming from under the door were a bit too much to handle (I mean _irk_ …) and I left for good and went down to Mrs H.

Well, I have to hurry home now, get dressed and show up at Yifan’s before 6 p.m. so her Mum can drive me to the party. A pity neither Dad nor Sherlock have a driving license. I mean, please. Though… this leads to the very convenient situation (agreed by everyone here involved, including _both_ of my Dads) that I will have to sleep over at Yifan’s as neither Dad nor Sherlock will be able to get me after the party. Such a pity.

***

**Saturday - 02/02/2030**

The party yesterday was GREAT. And after Yifan’s mum came to pick us up, Kiara, Yifan and I, we kept talking about all this until super late (or early). Yifan has a crush on Henry (GOD she has had a crush on him since September…), that was soooo obvious but she didn’t want anyone to know about it. But Kiara and I worked on that and eventually, when the party was announced, we had come so far to convince her to make the first move. But at the very moment, she chicked out and we had to apply plan B. 

OF COURSE we had a plan B. 

So Kiara convinced Henry to take that bloody first step… and everything went along very well, I mean… they danced together for FOUR whole songs. And… I got to small talk like 6 _entire minutes_ with Heather. But well, then Josh turned up and… so… anyway, this issue was not on the evening “issue solving” schedule. Next time. And nevertheless, Yifan is soooo funnily in love and happy. I _love_ this. But of course, she is a bit worried… I mean, we are not in the XX th Century _anymore_ and we all know that at some point, kissing and also sex is involved when it comes to “being in love”. 

We have a vague idea about the stuff but… well, we are missing _some_ ground information, I would say. As Yifan only lives with her Mum and Grandma and that neither of them seem to have any kind of sex (or kissing) life, Kiara and I offered to ask around in our respective families. Well, yeah, I KNOW, Yifan is a girl and Henry is a boy and well… Sherlock and Daddy are two men but still… they kiss ALL THE TIME, surely if SOMEONE knows anything about kissing, than it’s them. I was not so sure about the sex thing.  

I still am not. 

Well… they for sure did have sex in the past (I guess ?)… I mean, Dad must, at least at some point, have had sex with my Mum… but _now_? At _their age_? What is actually the maximal age to have sex? Is there a time limit ? Do _old_ people have sex? Do _parents_ have sex? 

Kiara said that she thinks her parents have sex as she saw them once but she was not quite sure, as this was super long ago. Neither of us were sure. And then I thought of Molly. She is not a parent, she is cool and beautiful and I know she has a girlfriend. Well considered, Mrs H. is not a parent either. Maybe… well, let’s start with Molly. It’s Saturday so I will meet her anyway for lunch.

 Looking forward. As I also have other question about… this _Woman_. And Serbia. And all the stuff that made me take Mrs HoneyBee back from her shelf the last few nights. 

Yifan and Kiara told me both, it was all right to have taken Mrs HoneyBee back. They told me it was a tough situation and Yifan told me she did the same last time she heard her Mum cry in the kitchen after she fought with her Grandma about some stuff she couldn’t understand involving a trial and an attorney. I love my friends.

***

**Sunday - 03/02/2030 - part 1**

Well, today is Sunday. Nobody will be up before 10. So there is no matter to hurry. I asked Molly about sex yesterday. She was surprised but willing to answer. When I asked her if parents do actually have sex, she laughed hard and told me to ask mine. When I mentioned that they maybe were too old for that she had to laugh even harder.

“But Rosie, what makes you think I am not too old for sex if your parents are?”

“Well… You’re not old!”

(I mean, isn’t hat very obvious?)

“Rosie, Sweetheart, Sherlock and I are the same age.”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?!”

*mind blown*

“Rosie, close your mouth please, swallow first and then shout. I am sitting in front of you.”

“But…”

“What?”

“No, but… how… I mean…why, then… no children and…”

“Rosie, Honey, we are all different. All human, but all different. We all have different lives, different paths, different opportunities, different battles, different outcomes and different expectations on our very one lives. Your Dads got married, I chose not to. Same way I chose not having kids. I am happy and fulfilled with my life as it is, with you, with your Dads, with all the other people you don’t know in it and with Stella, of course.”

I had to think. Because even if she was joking, Molly really did not seem to be as old as my fathers seemed to be. It’s related to wrinkles and to eye shadows. Such matter is important! Well… this should at least be brought up. But, right, Stella, I hadn’t heard about her in ages.

“How is Stella?”

“She is working on a case with Greg. I bet your Sherlock Dad will very soon hear about it.”

“Mmmmh…”

She drank some beer and looked a bit worried. I like Molly so much, she always notices right away and does not tiptoe around it when she thinks something bothers me. That’s so _cool_ and so _mature_.

“What’s the matter, Honey? I know this frowning. It’s nothing good. Tell me.”

“You really do look younger than my parents.”

“Well… maybe my daily anti-age beauty care works better?”

She tried a joke but it did not really work.

“Honey, before you were born your Dads went through tough times. I guess this leaves some kind of marks. But what is this really about, Rosie? Did something bad happen? Sherlock texted me about the adoption papers, I thought he was pleased… wasn’t he?”

So. Here we were. I took a deep breath. I was not able to look up from my plate and forked playfully into my noodles.

“I kind of think he is. But he cried a lot. A LOT. He… talked about being trapped by feelings, he talked about a seven percent solution, he talked about not wanting to care, about not being able to live if we left, he said something about Daddy leaving him in the past? And Daddy talked about a fall, a fraud, a woman and about Serbia an mourning and…”

“Christ Rosie, when did all that happen? Were you listening behind closed doors?”

Molly looked horrified. I shyly looked up.

“Is it so bad?”

She closed her eyes, put her fork down and rubbed her forehead with her thumbs.

“Well, this is pretty messed up…”

She looked at me while picking some salad sheets with her fingers up to her mouth and chewing them slowly. I was feeling more and more as if I would just DIE in the next five minutes:

“ Come on! Tell me!”

“Rosie, listen, your Dads have a tough story behind them. I don’t know everything about it but I know they got through hard times. Sherlock used to have _powerful_ enemies and your Dad used to be… how could I put this in a polite way… well, times were different and your Dad was jailed in his own mind. Around your birth, they were both very damaged… VERY damaged and worst of it… most of all those damages which they had inflicted upon themselves, they had done it because of themselves. Well, adults are somewhat silly sometimes.”

She broke off.

“Seven percent solution is a cocaine solution. You already know Sherlock used to do drugs. Your father used to drink. A lot. Well and then there was your Mum. Oh _God_ Rosie, this is all _so_ complicated.”

I had to remind her of a very important information :

“I am 13, I am an _almost_ grown up person, I can handle the truth. I am _not_ a _child_ anymore.”

“Well… I suppose, I can tell you at least _some_ parts of that story.”

She took a deep breath.

“Well, 20 years ago, as you already know, your Dad went back from Afghanistan. He was introduced to Sherlock by Mike and they moved together in 221B Baker Street. Your Dad was in a pretty bad shape. But thanks to Sherlock, he was thrown into life again and started to regain happiness. And same happened for Sherlock. At that time, Sherlock was a lonely somewhat sad man, solving crimes as an alternative to get high as he puts it himself. I had fallen for him at that time…”

She smiled. My eyes almost popped out of my head : WHAAAAAT?! Molly and Sherlock???

“Well… he looked so… _feminine_ with his baby skin and his lovely curls… Anyway. John, your Dad, started to take care of Sherlock, like Sherlock was taking care of him. But as I already said, times were different, your Daddy was haunted by powerful ghosts and a strong military custom of feelings inhibition. And even if it was quite obvious from the very beginning for _everyone_ that these two men were in love with each other, they did not talk about it and pretended to just be _friends_. Well… Sherlock was actually not saying anything, leaving it all to your Dad who would scream and scream about not being _gay_.”

“But daddy is NOT gay, he is…”

“Yes, Honey, I know. But at that time, saying “I am not gay” was not meant to be understood as “I am bi” but merely as “I am straight.”

“What? Daddy was lying about himself?”

“As I said, those were different times. Your Dad has come a long way.”

I was puzzled. In a bad way. But anyway, I wanted Molly to go on. She obliged.

“Argh, this was soooo… frustrating. And then, a powerful enemy of Sherlock managed to force him into faking his own suicide to protect your Dad. And Sherlock had to move to Serbia to dismantle some mafia before he could safely come back to your Dad. But during that time, two years, your Dad had thought that Sherlock was dead. This was a terrible time for all of us, but in particular for him. And for me… As I knew Sherlock was actually alive… Well it was tough and I avoided your Dad as much I could because I couldn’t bare the pain I was witnessing each time I had to meet him. Anyway, it’s during that time that he met your Mum. She helped him get through it and helped him to move on. But then… suddenly, Sherlock was not dead and was back in his life. This came as a heavy shock. This was a hard time too. There was anger and deep deep grudge and resentment and… well. Sherlock is not always the wisest when it comes to understand human feelings. Especially the feelings of those he love. Be warned.”

She ate a bit of her salad and drunk some of her beer.

“Well… and your Dad married your Mum, kind of breaking Sherlock’s heart and I think your Dad tried to somehow protect himself and therefore he put some distance between himself and Sherlock. Or maybe your Mum did this, I don’t know. Because your Mum and Sherlock kind of… well… they were not especially _fond_ of each other. It’s… _complicated_. Your Mum was a bit… _er_ … unpredictable and _er_ … had also a _tough_ past. She was a tough woman who turned out to be very… _er_ … far from what your Daddy had imagined when he married her. At some point she… put Sherlock’s life in great danger and… got _somewhat_ involved with those very powerful enemies of Sherlock and… _er_ … this were hard times for your Dad. His wife and his _best friend_ , as he was calling Sherlock at that time, were a _bit_ waging war and… _er_ … Rosie, this is _really_ messed up and badly summarized, I am so sorry I don’t really know how to put this… well let’s just say that Sherlock got almost killed and that your Mum was shot. Well, as a result, your Dad lost his ground and completely cut Sherlock out of his life. You stayed with me for several months, he could not take care of you, he was too damaged. And that was also terrible for Sherlock. He completely lost faith and heart and I guess he almost turned insane with pain and sadness and self-loath and anxiety and therefore turned full to drugs, not only as a distraction. But well… as I already said, your Daddy was drinking a lot and did cut himself from reality too. _Never_ ask Mrs Hudson about this, she is still not done getting all upset about all that mess. Eventually… Mrs Hudson couldn’t stand it anymore and she intervened. Your Daddy somehow came back to sense and realised _what_ he was actually inflicting to himself and to Sherlock and from there… they started –FINALLY- to _talk_ to each other and to build their lives around you. Your Daddy sought professional help and they slowly, slowly healed their wounds, both spoken and unspoken ones. I think Sherlock is still working on some of those wounds. He is very _fragile_. So very more than he actually wishes to be… this wanabee feelingless sociopath…”

“Okay.”

I swallowed. I… didn’t quite understand. I mean… Daddy and Sherlock _share one soul_. They are like day and night, they can’t stay even ONE day without texting each other, they… Who were those crazy people Molly was telling me about? How could…

“I am sorry love, this is much information to process, isn’t it?”

“Well… and the woman thing?”

“Ah, _The Woman_ … with capital W. Her name is actually Irene Adler, she is a close friend of Sherlock. Your Dad has always been _deadly_ jealous about her as she kept jokingly flirting with Sherlock. But she is married to her former assistant, Kate. Your Dad used to be pretty jealous. It’s better now.”

“Okay.”

A LOT to process indeed. But for then I just wanted to eat that raspberry-tiramisu which was calling me from over the dessert table, accross the room. 

Well we did not talk about sex, in the end. So I will have to ask Daddy and Sherlock as Yifan needs the information by tomorrow.

***

**Sunday - 03/02/2030 - part 2**

Well… half an hour ago, as it was getting close to eleven a.m. and as I was STARVING (it REALLY was breakfast time), I went slowly and carefully down in order to start boiling the water and make some typical “breakfast noises” that would get them out of their room. And also, I needed to go to the loo. And if that would not work, I would just have knocked. It’s a rule we have : no-one enters anyone’s room without knocking. But as I passed their closed door, I couldn’t avoid hearing Sherlock’s trembling voice. What… AGAIN ?

“I am so sorry John.”

Daddy’s answer came very calm and tender. I could picture them lying entangled on their pillows, Sherlock’s head on Daddy’s shoulder, the one with the scar, and Daddy’s chin nestled in Sherlock’s messy fluffy curls. I had seen that _sooooo_ often (eyes roll). Daddy would put both of his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock would just adjust inside the wrap as a big lazy cat.

“Sherlock, this leads to nothing. I don’t even know what you might be sorry about. Please, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. Talk to me. I mean, really, _talk to me_.”

Hell Sherlock’s voice was _so_ low… I could barely hear it.

“I am so lost, John. So lost… I don’t know how to… what to…”

“Just stop trying to flee. There is nothing to flee from. Put it into words and _say_ those words to me.”

Wait… _that_ was Daddy talking? Gosh…

“I can’t handle hope, John.”

Was this a sob ? Hell, what was the matter with Sherlock ? Since when… and then I remembered Molly’s story. I still hadn’t really thought about it. Still haven’t. I need Yifan and Kiara to do so. One brain is not enough. Anyway, while I was standing there, Daddy went on, in his calm and tender voice.

“This is no hope. This is insurance, can’t you see it? If the Court agrees, you are stuck with us… for ever. For ever, my love. Stuck with your Doctor for ever, you posh boy. My posh madman boy.”

O_o !!!

“What if I start not being posh enough anymore ? What if I suddenly was not able to make you laugh anymore ? What if suddenly it turned out that I was not able to make you feel proud of me anymore? What if suddenly you realized I was actually not worth it? If suddenly you somehow came to sense and… I am falling, John, falling deeper and deeper, faster and faster, I can’t handle it, this will kill me, the landing, the…”

“Sherlock, listen to me. I mean… _listen_. I already told you but you were not listening. So, now, listen.”

 Ah! _That_ was Daddy talking again. _Rosie, listen. I know I already told you to tidy your room but you were not listening. So NOW_ … oh well, back to the actual conversation:

“Sherlock, listen to me. I mean… _listen_. I already told you but you were not listening. So, now, listen. You are not falling anymore. You are safe, on the ground, here, _at home_. With _us_. With _me_. I am not the closeted broken man with suicidal thoughts and eating disorder you met 20 years ago or the grieving resentful broken man with the killer wife and alcohol addiction who could neither face his feelings nor his fears… I am over it. I know where I stand, who I am, what I want. And I want _you_. Have always wanted you. You can lean on me, I can bear your weight. Please, give in. Stop tiptoeing around and settle down. I won’t leave you. How could I, Sherlock ?”

Wait, was… he speaking about my _Mum_? _Killer wife_? O_o !

“How could you what ?”

“How could I leave you? Why on earth would I actually be wanting to leave you ?”

“I just gave you…”

“Really Sherlock ? I think you don’t get it. Do you need me to add a touch of the dramatic? Do you want me to use cheesy metaphors ? Well… let’s do that if it helps you picturing what I am trying to tell here. So… Why would I rip my heart out of my chest ? Why would I take the sun out of my sky ? Why would I go back to aching shoulders, painful limps, annoying twitching, colourless darkness, endless sadness, sleepless nights stuffed with nightmares… why, Sherlock, why on earth would I do that ? You think I want to go back to drinking and having to listen to Mrs H. shouting at me while picturing you diving into your worst drug habits and ending in losing it all, including Rosie, and freaking out over you… because you are _the only one_ I have to freak out over, therefore ending up in beating the _shit_ out of you while you are at your lowest and not even able to realize that _I_ am the one doing wrong ? No, Sherlock, I’ve been there, I never ever want to go back. Only thinking about this breaks my heart, makes me hate myself and makes me shiver. Those were the darkest days of my life. I would turn insane if I had to live through that again. I NEVER, do you hear me, NEVER EVER want to hurt you again in any way. I NEVER EVER again want to hear you tell me that I am _entilted_ to hurt you. NEVER. This makes me sick. Once was already too much. Even regarding the heavy context. This is unforgivable but I have to live with it. It’s not easy but I manage to.” 

Had I _ever_ heard my Dad talk _that_ much _tha_ t fast ? And what was this shit about Daddy getting violent at Sherlock ? Who was he talking about ? Which world was that ? Anyway, he seemed to have breathed in and out deeply a few times and went on, more slowly :

“Because I want to live. To live with you, as you seem to still want me in your life, despite everything that happened. It is how it is. Our story is deeply flawed, we have to work on it day in, day out and it will never be simple. But with Rosie it’s different. With Rosie, it’s pure, it’s only about future. And this is what it is all about : future. You are LOVED Sherlock, truly and genuinely loved, face it.”

I am the future ? Of what past? Of what present ?

“This is a currency I don’t know how to spend.”

“There is nothing to be spent here, love. It’s all about taking. For once, just once, take it and… enjoy it. This is all what it is about : enjoying the love you get, Sherlock. It’s not a debt, it’s a gift. Accept it. You deserved it. You are entitled to. It is okay, and it is fine. One should be allowed to say such things.”

“I am afraid, John. _Feelings_ … I…”

“Give in, Sherlock. Give in. You already told it : it’s too strong to be fought. Surrender, give in and enjoy it. You deserve it, you handsome human being. You are so used to pain, learn to get used to happiness. Try it. I… quite enjoy it.”

“I can’t put that responsibility on your shoulder, I…”

“Sherlock, the very first day we met, I killed a man to save your life. I made a decision that day. I chose you. You have always been my first choice. I owe you so much, I still do. I am the one indebted till the end of times, not you. I can’t figure out why you always come to think that you owe me anything when it’s has been, from the very start, quite the opposite.”

“Oh John…”

“Well, Sherlock, as I said, this leads to nothing. Put it into words and _talk_ to me. As I am doing right now. You know this is difficult for me. If _I_ can do it, so _you_ can.”

“Because… you gave it all a sense. You made it being worth it. You _saw me_. You enjoyed _me_. Genuinely. You made me exist as a _person_ and not only as an annoying bunch of useful competences. That’s why. I owe you my humanity.”

“No. Your humanity is yours. I only happened to notice it, and… to love it. And as I am the worst comedian on earth, I could hide neither my admiration nor my love for you. I _know_ you noticed it from the very start, you sneaky… whatever. But you respected my discomfort and you… you put my well-being before yours, as usual… I… owe you so much, I am sorry beyond words about everything that happened because of my foolish blindness… “

He had to breath deep.

“Truth is, I love you so much Sherlock Holmes, sometimes it aches.”

There was a long silence. I felt weird. This had maybe been a bit too private to listen at. Therefore, I started to move away from the door when suddenly, Sherlock’s lowest voice rose:

“Say it again, John.”

“I think we have reached the very edge of my ability to put words on my feelings. Don’t push it.”

“I don’t care. Say it again.”

“I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You are the very man of my life. I love you.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Were they…  _giggling ? Irk_ … _that_ was WAY too cheesy. This I really couldn’t bear. 

I wonder how the _proposal_ did happen if this fuss is all about my _adoption_?

And this… _killer wife_ part ? And this “beating the shit out of you” part ?

***

**Monday - 04/02/2030 - part 1**

Well, it should actually be biology class but… Ms Hakimi is not here. Nobody knows where she is but anyway, nobody really cares : we are all sitting in the classroom and chatting around, waiting for the next lecture (Chinese) to start. No big deal. I mean, maybe it is for her but well… let’s hope it’s not. I am actually really happy she is not here, because I have WAY more important stuff to do right now than learning about some cell mitosis.

OF COURSE, Yifan, Kiara and I are talking about _sex_. I have to admit, the information Kiara gathered are far better than mine. This is a bit unfair because I INTENDED to ask Molly but… yeah, _Killer Mum_ story and so and afterwards I DID ask Daddy and Sherlock but… maybe I was wrong about starting with Sherlock.

*sigh*

Anyway, after their “morning cuddling” I managed to get them out of their room in making such an indecent amount of noise that even Mrs H. went up, asking what the matter was. It was all very funny to see everyone’s head popping through different doors. After some discussion about the proper or improper manner to let someone know one is actually STARVING and CRIEVING for breakfast, it was decided that Daddy went down to help Mrs H. with some shelf she wanted to have removed while Sherlock and I would prepare a brunch for all four of us.

And there I was scrambling some eggs while Sherlock was organizing the table (well HE is the one in charge of _his stuff_ and therefore, as soon as we are more than three people, HE HAS TO tidy his mess up, _lmao_ ) when I suddenly decided it was the right moment to ask an uncomplicated (in my opinion) question.

“Sherlock, do you still have sex ?”

There was some glass chattering and while I turned around I found myself facing a wide eyed Sherlock who had just let drop some of his glassy mishmash on the ground. Well done… Now we would have to clean the ground… _sigh_.

“Sherlock !”

He seemed to wake up, swallowed hard, looked down at his feet and took notice of the disaster. He grabbed the sponge and kneeled down to clean the mess. I went back to my eggs. And started to make some room for the bacon and the sausages. Suddenly, from under the table, he spoke.

“Watson, I strongly suggest you to reconsider _who_ exactly you are talking to _right now_ and how my response might actually induce some maybe unwanted awkward knowledge about… well… a specific person you don’t really want to know such things about.”

As I was just making a face expressing my full non-understanding, he just closed his eyes and sighed deeply : “Remember who I am married to ?”

“Well, yes, I think I noticed that Dad and you are married… as you are my other Dad, it seems pretty logical to me. So what ? Was I right in thinking that parents are too old to have sex ?”

His eyes went big.

“What old ?! Who’s old here ?! I am not _even_ 50 right now, and I do have all my hair, what…”

He started mumbling around while angrily wiping the ground : “Sure, your Dad is maybe getting a _bit_ bold and, YES, he is over 50 but that is _not_ old… I mean, nowadays people live up to over 100 years so this would make us old for _at least_ half of our life… what…”

This was getting out of control. And this was not the conversation I wanted to have. Parents are old, _period_. God, being close to or over 50, really, what difference ? This IS old. Not debate, here. The eggs were ready. I put the bacon and the sausages into the pan and spoke over the fatty sizzling. Anyway, I know how to be diplomatic when it is important.

“Okay, sorry. You’re not old. Or not _that_ old. So you’re still having sex, then ?”

“Rosie, please, think. I know you actually are a brilliant girl. Who do you think I might or might not have sexual intercourse with ? Do you really want to know about that ?”

He stared at me, serious. Deadly serious. Oh. The light turned on. I shut up. For now. Did I care imagining Daddy have sex with Sherlock ? I mean… haven’t I already somehow been picturing it the last few days ? Was it so bad to think about that ? Sherlock stood up, rinsed the sponge and started to grab some cups and plates, seemingly released to avoid a conversation he did not want to have. Not with me, at least. _Too bad_ I wanted actually to gather my information.

“Okay. So… is it bad to talk about one’s parents having sex ?”

He froze. And then had an exasperated sigh.

“Why on earth are we talking about that ? I personaly never wanted to, _still_ do not want to know _how_ or even _if_ anyone I know, even loosely, is somehow doing it, I just get sick at imagining say… Mycroft at it – he shivered hard - so I really can’t figure out why you would like to know such details about your Dad. Or myself.”

“Oh God, Sherlock, I don’t want some horny details about you and Daddy, I just wanted to know if you know about the stuff because I have some questions !”

He had put down the last cup and was about to open the cutlery drawer when he froze again. Really an uneasy subject here. When Sherlock freezes it means that he doesn’t know neither what to say nor how to behave. And experience showed him, as Daddy told me, that it is usually wiser to freeze thant to just behave randomly like a frightened cat or something. Eventually, he came back into motion :

“Oh. Questions.”

“Yes, what do you need to do sex ?”

“What do you need to… ?”

“Yes ! How do you do it ?”

He shook his head and talked very fast and very low :  “How… well Watson, that is… I mean, all you need is some willingness, some consent, some lips and fingers, some imagination, and maybe some army boots but…”

“Wait what ?! Army boots ?”

I frowned as hard as he hunched while closing his eyes as if he had just pinched his finger or so.

“Watson, let’s just pretend you never heard that and let’s not drop any of this in front of your…”

As he was finishing his sentence, Daddy and Mrs H. came in, happy and hungry.

***

**Monday - 04/02/2030 - part 2**

Gosh, Ms Hakimi ended up arriving 5 minutes before the bell rang. Just in time to give us LOTS of _fucking_ homework. Christ from Hell, how is there any justice in this _fucking_ world ? And even worse, I _completely_ forgot about this silly Chinese vocabulary test we had to prepare for today… God, this was _failure_. GOD I’M PISSED OFF ! And now Yifan and Kiara have come up with that fucking plan about Sherlock’s phone… I…

Anyway. Sunday, (well, yesterday) during brunch :

Sherlock was still somewhat shaken about our small “no-conversation” and had some hard times behaving normal (whatever this is supposed to mean… I guess sitting on the couch with one’s arms folded around one’s knees while rocking wild, doesn’t fit into “normal almost 50 years old dude’s” behaviour). And I was in a playing mood. I mean… I am an _almost_ grown up, it _utterly_ displeases me when someone, anyone, especially Sherlock and his forever inappropriate half childish half puppy alike behaviour just… dismisses me on a growns up subject. So I was playfully devilish mooded. War is war. And Daddy was anyway sensing something had happened. I briefly looked at Sherlock, sitting straight as a Greek temple column in his chair and, smiling my most “girly-genuine-innocent” smile, I casually asked:

“Daddy, do you still own your army boots ?”

Sherlock twitched and almost bit his tongue. Daddy noticed, of course, but he only slightly frowned and gently put his hand on Sherlock’s wrist.

“Well, yes, of course. Why ?”

“Well, do you still use them ?”

Sherlock was now _so_ tensed, even Mrs H. noticed. I had trouble keeping my angel face on and not bursting into very _unladylike_ laughter. Daddy noticed something was _really_ wrong. So he went on carefully.

“What is this about ? Of course I don’t use them anymore… I mean… why should I use them for ?”

Sherlock blushed so hard and seemed so confused and so lost, I could not help myself and burst into fat laughter. Mrs H. was smiling somewhat enigmatically while poking through her eggs and Daddy seemed to think about, like, 100 ideas at a second. I had to laugh even brighter.

“Rosie, Sherlock… I don’t get the joke…”

Mrs H. was positively having fun, I could tell : “Oh come on John, even I got it !”

She smiled at me and was making an effort not to snigger like a little mouse. Daddy, on the other hand, really didn’t seem to get it. So Sherlock lost it and diving into his hands mumbled something about awful teenagers and sex.

Mrs H. seemed sympathetic : “Oh Sherlock, my poor boy…”

Daddy suddenly understood and his gaze locked mine : “ _What_ is going on here, Rosie ?”

“Well, I had some very simple questions about sex and Sherlock somehow implied that beneath fingers, lips and consent, army boots were related to it.”

“I also said willingness and imagination, and I eventually added MAYBE army boots, Watson.”

“Sherlock, _army boots_? And what about proper prevention and condoms? Good Lord, leave your bloody kink outside the conversation when you are talking about sex with a teenager! Especially our daughter!”

“I…”

“And Hell Rosie, well played, why don’t you come to me, with those questions ? _I_ am the doctor here, not the blushing maiden… what was this about ?”

“I thought you were too _old_ for this. That’s all. Didn’t think you were still…”

“What do you mean with _too old_? _I_ am too old for sex but _he_ ’s not ? _I_ could not manage but _Sherlock_ yes and… with who exactly should he manage if not with me, may I ask ?”

Well… good point. Sherlock moaned in his hands. I bit my underlip, thinking. Mrs H. was desperate not to break into laughter and even Daddy couldn’t keep on his grumpy-angry face in a believable fashion : his lips were twitching a bit at Sherlock’s desperate attempts to disappear into the table. He patted his shoulder gently and then, benting over on the table, tried to meet his gaze and said in the tender voice he usually uses when Sherlock is socially freaking out: “It’s all right Sherlock, love. You will survive it.”

Mrs H. happily took a bit sausage in her mouth and added: “Rosie, Darling, I can insure you that your parents are still active on that matter. Including the army boots part. And I must say… I am happy with this state of facts.”

At that, Daddy froze next Sherlock and even I felt a bit awkward. But Mrs H. just smiled. He cought a bit, straightened slowly up, squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Well Mrs H. _this_ is maybe too much information, even for me…”

“Well John, your bedroom is just over mine and walls are kind of thin. It’s an old house, here. So… I can’t _not_ hear you. I mean… I don’t mind. Not at all. I think this is gracious and utterly welcome but I hear you, yes.”

She blinked at me while Sherlock was moaning again, even more desperate than before. Daddy had a sort of beaten smile and shrugged, gaze turned down. Daddy being shy ? I LOVED this conversation. He squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and murmured to himself: “It’s all right, I will survive it.”

Mrs H. put her fork and knive down: “I mean, back in my times, this was hardly a subject matter ! For anyone! Sex was not discussed! It was taboo ! Even worse, you two would even have risked to be arrested if a preying landlady had heard anything… Jesus, we had to fight so hard, all of us, but especially the women, to get some available prevention, to get some freedom, to get some respect, to get the right to actually enjoy sex as human beings, as women… Please, how long did it take so queer people’s sex was not an issue anymore but was just, say… normal… at least for _most_ people. I know Rosie dear, you still get some remarks at times and others… and I am _so_ sorry for _tha_ t. I mean, John, please, I will never forget your firm statement about “of course we will need two bedrooms” when I first met you… and everything that went on from that. Jesus Christ, John, should I remind you that you actually were jealous of a gay woman ? A _gay woman_ , a _lesbian_ , John !”

She slamed her flat hands on the table and her fork flew on the ground. Daddy was still looking down. And suddenly, Sherlock’s somewhat bemused voice was to be heard : “Well… he still is…”

Daddy rolled his eyes and sighed, flushing a bit. Mrs H. went on.

“I am sooo happy to see where we stand now, what has all been achieved… Because, Rosie, Darling, _I am_ an _old_ woman. I have seen lots of changes. Good ones, bad ones. And sexual freedom and broken taboos belong, as long as I am concerned, to the good ones.”

And we spend all four talking about old times and old fights. Mrs H. had A LOT to tell. Daddy too, surprisingly. Sherlock and I were mostly silent and listening. It was a great Sunday brunch. But somewhere, in my mind, this Woman lady was calling from unknown ground. An unknown world in which my mother was a “killer wife” and in which Daddy was “beating the shit out of Sherlock”. This had to be clarified. 

I totally forgot about sex.


	2. Second week : 05/02/2030 - 11/02/2030

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie is still 13.  
> Still trying to figure out what happened. But everything seems to get more and more complicated by every minute. Or so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...  
> 200 people read Rosie's first week thoughts and adventures put on paper (or screen, who knows ^^).  
> *happy*  
> *touched*  
> I guess it's time little Rosie meets my favourite character. :)

**Tuesday - 05/02/2030**

Yifan got the idea. Of course Kiara was in.

But I’m not sure about it.

Really not.

***

**Wednesday - 06/02/2030**

Yifan doesn’t want to let go. Kiara says it’s the ONLY way to gather some neutral and reliable information about all this.

We have talked a lot (A LOT) about all what I have heard the past few days. It’s pretty heavy. I have sooo many questions, I don’t know who to ask.

***

**Thursday - 07/02/2030**

ANOYING!

Sherlock is SOOOOO wrong! _Breathing_ is NOT BORING AT ALL.

But _thinking_ is. SO BORING. I hate it. I am tired. And sad. Not even Heather’s smile has warmed my mood up today.

Daddy and Sherlock start getting suspicious, somehow. Daddy asked loosely about sex at dinner and Sherlock hinted at girlfriends or boyfriends or relations… but I didn't want to pretend. I just said that Heather and Josh were back together and their curiosity was fed. This is bullshit, of course. Josh and Heather don’t talk anymore. Whatever, this is not the _priority issue_ right now. Right now, I want to _know_.

Maybe Yifan’s idea is worth a try.

God no… this is too… far too over the edge.

***

**Friday - 08/02/2030**

God, I can’t stand it anymore. Sherlock doesn’t buy the Heather-Josh thing anymore. Daddy started getting a bit sad too. They are clueless. I won’t be able to escape some “conversation” any much longer. I have to handle.

Yifan told me I know what to do.

Kiara offered me to host me if it went wrong.

I don’t know.

***

**Saturday - 09/02/2030 (part 1)**

Today is Saturday, Molly is taking me out for lunch and she also said something about a musical around Picadilly. I did not really pay attention. Didn’t slept well. Mrs HoneyBee was no big help. I feel like shit.

Yesterday evening, after dinner, Daddy knocked at my door. I didn’t let him in. Then Sherlock tried. I just told him to go away. Ladylike and cool.

Around 10 p.m. they knocked both and as I still didn’t want to let them in, Daddy became angry but Sherlock smoothed him down.

Later, I heard the violin. It was my song.

Later, Daddy tried again.

“Rosie, love, I am sorry I lost my temper earlier. Please, open that door. I can hear you cry, I am… we are worried, _really_ worried, please talk to us, what’s wrong ? You know you can tell us everything ? I mean… _everything_. If you are in troubles for some reason… well, be sure Sherlock managed to be in bigger ones. So, no worries, we will figure it out. Just let us know. Please, open that door.”

But I didn’t open it.

I don’t know what I should tell them. Like…Ow, hello, please, tell me, I was wondering, what is all this shit about _you_ being suicidal, you having eating disorder, you denying your identity, you being a drinker (lmao, what are you actually teasing Harry for if you are the same ?!), you being violent toward Sherlock (?!) and… _you_ being dead and going to Serbia for dismantling some mafia (?!), you STILL not haven’t filed out any of the papers I gave you… and my mother being an assassin and… well, I STILL don’t know what I wanted to know about sex. And I STILL messed up my Chinese vocabulary test and Heather and Josh are still turning me mad and… Yifan’s idea is STILL shit.

So, this morning, I was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast on my own as usual : Daddy was at his practice and Sherlock was under the shower, getting ready for Greg’s new case. He had just called. There was an eye (still is), in a glass, swimming in some oily mixture, watching me from over the table. I had left Mrs HoneyBee in my bed. She still is there.

Sherlock’s phone was on the table, left unlocked, as usual, beneath the swimming eye. I was thinking I might… well no, I had to remind me there are about 130% chances he would notice. He always notices. He doesn’t always say he does, but I know better than under-estimating him. However, I suddenly had this mastermind idea of a REALLY devilish mind : I could pretend having spilled my milk over the table and having had to clean the phone and… I mean, I KNEW, he would stay under that shower at least half an hour (like aaaaaalways), then he would spend like 15 minutes (like aaaaaalways) drying his hair and doing whatever, involving expensive creams and after shave and perfume and… so… I had PLENTY of time. So I did it. Couldn’t stand it anymore, damn it.

I took a deep breath and ***ooops*** took my milk cup and ***accidentally*** turned it upside down. Ohmygodmilkspreadseverywhere, whatasurprise (blink). So I grabbed Sherlock’s wet phone and went to the sink to clean it. BUT before I actually did that, I went to his contacts list (yes, clean it _after_ you took the number, girl... try to erase fingerprints and so on _afterwards_ , not _before_...) and felt a shock :

  * Donovan
  * Golden Dragon
  * Hopkins
  * John
  * John - practice
  * Lestrade
  * M - private
  * M - office
  * McKallay (Mr)
  * McKallay (Ms)
  * Mike
  * Molly
  * Mum
  * Mrs Hudson
  * Ms Li
  * Scotland Yard Official
  * The Woman
  * Watson



Well, _tha_ t was it ? England’s… no, the _World’s_ biggest and most famous consultant detective’s contacts list was… made of _18_  (e-i-g-h-t-e-e-n) numbers from which 3 were those of _my friends_ parents, one was from the restaurant around the corner and 5 were from family members ? Or maybe even 7 if “M” did stand for creepy Mycroft dude. 

*mind blown*

Is it sad ? Is it funny ? Maybe Sherlock has another phone ? Anyway, while I was standing there wondering around, the shower water was suddenly turned off, I got an adrenaline shock and almost dropped the phone. Damn it. Well, I swiftly copied The Woman’s number out on a napkin (SURE, I had left my phone upstairs in my room and OF COURSE, there were no post-it’s available *eyes roll*) and clicked it all away while cleaning said phone. I started cleaning the table and concentrated to act like NORMAL. I only spilled the milk, I only cleaned everything, this was NORMAL. Nothing wrong there. If I stopped behaving like a haunted chicken, this would never be known by anyone, consultant detective or not.

When Sherlock went out the bathroom all cleaned and fragranced, I handed him his phone.

“Sorry Sherlock, I spilled some milk over the table, I cleaned everything up, I hope your phone won’t be sticky.”

He tilted his head, moved his eyebrows, took the phone and turned it around between his fingers.

“It’s all right, Watson. That poor phone gets spilled over with funny stuff almost every single day. I think it has not been that clean for at least one year. Thank you.”

He smiled gently.

I felt so wrong.

His smil faded. He kneeled down to meet my gaze.

“Watson, you know your Dad was right yesterday ? There is nothing that you could have done or that may have happened to you that we would not believe. You really can talk to us about anything. We won’t freak out. We love you. We will always love you. You know that ?”

It popped out, before I could stop it : “Why didn’t you file the papers I gave you ? It has been one week. You don’t want to adopt me ?”

Well done, now I was crying. Sooo _cool,_ so _grown-up,_ and sooo utterly _mature_ … 

He looked as sorry as puzzled. His eyes went wide.

“Oh Watson…”

And he hugged me. And while I sobbed against his shoulder, I felt the usual cloud of classy smelling warmth and kindness envelop me. He gently stroke my back and readjusted his position, putting a knee down, to keep balance. I heard his articulations crack.

“Watson, my Bumblebee…”

There was a silence. I couldn’t speak. He seemed to have frozen. And then, speaking very slowly, in a very articulate way, as if he was weighing each word, he murmured :

“Watson, I _will_ file those paper. I will go to Court, I will adopt you. No question. I will. I promise you, I will. I simply need some time to… adjust. I need some time to get used to this, to… the _feeling_ of… You have had months to process it, I need a bit time too. This might be a bit huge for my silly high functioning sociopath brain. I might be good at observing things, and very fast at drawing deductions but I am slow… very slow as soon it comes to… adapt to other people’s feelings and expectations, or to adapt to new contexts and… I am not good with change, Watson. Not good at all. And this is a _heavy_ change. Please, I beg you, give me some time. I am working on it.”

“But… bu-ut… y-ou ma-ma-marri-ed Da-add-y…”

He went silent again. He was so tensed. I could actually _feel_ his brain clutchs work. I knew his eyse were flipping like crazy from one side to the other…

“Yes, I did.”

Silence.

“He had to wait a bit too. You can’t remember it, you were so little, but I needed some time too. And… he actually cheated a bit, telling me that we might actually get a divorce anytime. This is different, Watson. As you already know, you could not _un-parent_ me once the Court would have given its agreement, if it should ever happen.”

“Un-un-un-pa-arent you ? Wh-y ?”

He did not answer. He just hold me tighter and buried his nose in my shirt collar, like a big cat, and started slowly to rock.

Suddenly his phone buzzed in his hand. He answered. It was Greg. He had to go. He seemed sorry but also relieved. He was unreadable. I was thinking about Irene Adler’s number on the napkin in my pocket. I had to know. Yifan and Kiara were right.

***

**Saturday - 09/02/2030 (part 2)**

Molly picked me up at half past eleven, as planned. She didn’t ask anything, she already knew, I could see. Of course. I wondered if Daddy knew too.

Stella, Molly and I went to that cosy place we only go before theatre or musicals. While the waitress was taking our order, I politely asked, very ladylike and grown up, if Stella was not working on Greg’s case this Saturday. She only smiled. Molly rolled her eyes at her. I love Molly. I really do. But Stella is like the personification of coolness. I mean… Yeah, Sherlock is cool too in his mighty posh “high standard cloths” attitude when he is all acting as the consultant detective everyone thinks he is… but Stella has this very cool touch that make even the “big guys” look all shy.  She doesn’t even need a coat or a cigarette to look cool. She just _is_. I once told her. And she just replied : “That’s because I am proud to be who I am.” I mean, _how_ cool is THAT ?

“So, you are not working with Greg today ?”

“No, Rosie, obviously I am sitting here with Mo and you.”

“Come on Stella, answer.”

“Oh well, then. No, I’m not working on that case. Sally is. Your Sherlock Dad must have soooo much fun right now…”

She snuggled. Molly’s face went a bit sad : “Not a very bright day for poor Sherlock.”

Stella looked at her with an lifted eyebrow : “I beg your pardon ? I personally really pity Sally right now. She’s probably right now rolled over by a fast track train of insults and nasty comments and is being humiliated to the bones by Dark-mooded-genious-sorry-i-am-a-sociopath-Sherlock. He can be such an asshole when he wants to. And I bet he clearly wants to, right now.”

“Well… he…”

Stella just waved Molly’s try of an explanation off and grabbed her red wine glass. Molly rolled her eyes, again. Anyway, she remained silent and sipped at her beer. I could see they wanted to talk about something but didn’t really know how to. So I broke the ice.

“How long did Daddy have to wait after he proposed ?”

They both looked at me, then looked at each other, slightly puzzled. And suddenly it clicked. So Sherlock did tell them. Stella coughed a bit.

“Well… I can’t say, I’ve never been close to your parents. Between Sherlock Holmes and I, it’s really only professional. Never beyond. I think he is closer to Sally than to myself, actually… -she laughed a bit- I only got invited to the wedding as Mo’s “plus one”, that’s all I know.”

“Well… I actually thought it was Sherlock who proposed. He asked Greg how to do this.”

Stella’s eyes went BIG : “WHAT ?!”

Molly shrugged : “Well... Greg used to be married… and he is a man, obviously, and…he is Sherlock’s closest relationship to what friendship might look like between two guys… is it so surprising ?”

“Well, no, put like that it seems pretty logical…”

“Anyway, Rosie, Sweetheart, what makes you think it was the other way around ?”

“Sherlock told me this morning.”

“Ah.”

There was some short silence. Stella broke it.

“Rosie girl, you are a _big_ girl now. Maybe it’s a bit early but well, I guess there is no choice left here, you will have to learn and face it.” 

She had a gaze exchange with a nodding Molly : “Grownups, _adults_ , are not all super casual, super sure, super right, super strong, super responsible, super reliable, super mature and so on. Some are, but many aren’t. So is your Sherlock Dad. He has his own issues to deal with and he needs time to sort the things that happen to him. Every brain is unique and quite different from the other brains but some are a bit more unique and a bit more different than the average and they need some extra kindness and some extra patience. It’s all like a bridge… everyone takes the step they can take and in the end, everyone can meet. Doesn’t matter if one meet in the middle of the bridge or very close to one edge or the other. See what I mean ?”

As I remained quiet, Molly went on : “What Stella is trying to picture is that Sherlock is putting some effort, every day, to deal with the world. He doesn’t understand things as clearly as we usually do. It’s difficult for him. But he works on it on a daily basis. We don’t see it because it seems normal to us but for him it is exhausting. Anyway, he is adapting to us. And this time, he is overwhelmed and it is your turn to adapt to him. I mean, more than usual. See ?”

Stella got it from there : “It’s easy to loose one’s mind over Sherlock’s insensitive behaviour, to become resentful and to give up. But you know him, Rosie girl. You know he is reacting and behaving awkward compared to average. This is by no means different. He is just acting strange and this should not be compared with “normal behaviour”. See ?”

“I am sorry, Sweetheart, I should have warned you. I thought you would sense it. Or that John would explain this to you.”

“Daddy never talks to me about anything.”

“Sweetheart, that’s not true, and you know it.”

She made a little pause as she always does when she is on the verge of saying something huge.

“Anyway… he does take it very seriously and he does care very strongly.”

“How do you know ?”

“Well… he talked about all this to _Greg_ this morning. He told Greg you gave him those forms and he _texted_ me about your _argument_. Look…”

She showed me her phone. I saw several text messages from Sherlock :

10:18 - Molly, I need help. As always, you are the only one I can get it from. I am too ridiculous to handle this properly. I’m lacking words, I’m lacking brain cells, I’m lacking everything, even confidence. Watson, I want to adopt her. Have already. Since John brought her back at 221B. Of course I did. You knew, John knew – of course John knew -, even Lestrade and Mrs Hudson and that girlfriend of yours, Hopkins… you all knew/know… But Court thing is just so… official. Need time to adjust. Like always. Watson is too young to get it right and John… well it’s John. Talk to her if convenient ? – SH

10:21 - Talk to her anyway. – SH

10:23 - Please. – SH

When I looked up, Stella showed me her phone. Texts from Greg :

11:48 - Morning Inspector Hopkins. Hell down here, hope you enjoy your Saturday off. Inspector Donovan is turning insane. Sherlock Holmes is really difficult to handle this morning. He told me something barely making sense about some official adoption papers and an argument with Dr Watson’s girl… Is Holmes adopting the girl ? This is great and long overdue but… maybe someone should talk with the girl or with him or with Dr Watson… would you mind asking Prof. Hooper if she can do something about this ? I need my sanity back (and the sanity of ALL my inspectors) to keep things working here. Thank you very much.

11:56 - PS : sorry to bother you but I don’t have Prof. Hooper’s number as I lost my phone last week. Maybe you could also ask her to text me or something, so I wouldn’t have to use you as her clerk. Thank you. Have a nice day.

I swallowed hard.

Molly sat next to me to take me in her arm while I was starting to sob. _Again._

_***_

**Sunday - 10/02/2030**

The musical yesterday was _great_. And I mean **GREAT**. Like **G-R-E-A-T**. 

I looooooooved it. It was actually an old one that had been modernized and Stella kept moaning about “old things being better left the way they were” but Molly and I enjoyed it. It was about a phantom in an Opera in Paris. I have never been to Paris. It’s complicated to get a visa to get there, I heard. But Molly and Stella suggested we actually could give it a try and go there for my next birthday or so.

Anyway, I my head was full of music and when Molly brought me back home, I couldn’t help and just spent the whole evening telling and singing about it. Stella and Molly stayed for diner and at some point, Sherlock took his violin and started playing the music of the Phantom. This was sooooo great. He was smiling. I know Molly texted him to say she had talked to me. I guess Daddy must have known this to a certain extend too because he looked more relaxed. He even opened a wine bottle for Sherlock, Molly and Stella and allowed me to drink a bit. Daddy hardly never drinks, he…

Wait.

Oh.

God. Now I get it…

Well, as they all kept talking about boring grownups stuff including politics and economics (God this is sooooo boring, why do grownups talk about things like that ?) (Yes, even Sherlock… he put the violin down at some point to comment Stella’s analysis of something our Prime Minister had said last week) (and don’t get me started with Daddy… *sigh*) I wished them all a good night and went up. I texted Yifan and Kiara about what I had done in the morning and they both got very excited.

I was less excited than _anxious_.

So _anxious_ I needed to go to the loo. So I went down. I didn’t even want to spy or peep or ear or whatever as I genuinely thought they were still fighting over politics but… I couldn’t overhear my name. It was Stella speaking :

“Of course Rosie would have made that choice and would have asked you one day or another, how couldn’t’ you predict it ?”

Sherlock seemed somewhat sad (maybe drunk ?) : “She might have wanted to keep track of her mother in her life.”

Molly was drunk and hippsy : “However, in the end it seems that Watsons always choose _you_.”

I could hear Daddy’s smile in his voice : “Always the first choice.”

But I could hear the sudden acerb pettiness in Sherlock’s answer : “Stop saying I was your first choice, John. It doesn’t make things easier at all to be constantly lied at.”

Obviously, Daddy was taken aback : “Sorry… what ?”

Sherlock’s voice was icy : “Well, Mary Morstan did become, at some point, Mary Watson if I may remind you.”

Daddy was getting angry : “Why on Earth are we talking about her ?”

“Well, because you chose her.”

There was a silence. Even behind the closed door I could sense the awkwardness and the heaviness of _that_ silence. And suddenly, Daddy growled like a hurt bear : “Christ, yes, you’re right… I chose her. Over your fucking damn _dead_ body Sherlock !!!”

After that, everything went super fast. I heard Molly shouting “John, no, calm down, don’t…” while someone punched or kicked some furniture (the table ? The chairs ?) followed by some big chattering and Daddy’s voice rising even more angry than before : “OVER YOUR D.E.A.D BODY !!!”

Sherlock’s voice rose like a sharp snake : “John, I… already told you about one thousand times it all was because Jim Moriarty…”

“FUCKING CHRIST SHERLOCK HOLMES !!! GOOD FOR YOU YOU KNEW THAT TINY DETAIL BEFORE YOU JUMPED FROM THAT FUCKING ROOF ! YOU ALSO MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT A WAY… _ANY WAY_ TO INFORM ME ! DO YOU WANT ME TO PICTURE YOU WITH FULL DETAILS HOW I SPENT THOSE TWO FUCKING YEARS AGONIZING OVER YOU ?!! “

He took his breath : “And then, you just popped back into life like… _nothing_ happened, the _very_ day I was finally moving on, and proposing to _her_. AND 13 YEARS LATER YOU’RE STILL NOT DONE BEING JEALOUS BECAUSE I SOMEHOW TRIED TO LIVE AFTER YOU… died.”

Silence.

 “YOU WERE _DEAD_  !!! HOW WAS THERE A CHOICE ?!!”

Silence.

“For her, I never did half of the things I did for your. I never…”

Silence.

“You know what Sherlock Holmes ? I still can’t go to Bart’s. I still can’t face that fucking place where I saw your body _crushed_ on the ground. May I kindly remind you where we went last month for the special exhibition about white sharks ? Do you… do you even realize what…”

He broke off and a door was slammed so hard that something actually fell from a shelf.

Silence.

After a while, Molly’s voice stated : “Well… Sherlock. I think he has made his point, here.”

Stella, seeming to carry something heavy, added : “You just fucked up very hard Holmes.”

Molly agreed : “I suggest you to learn quite quick how to properly formulate an accurate excuse.”

Last month, we went to the London Aquarium. I _loved_ the shark exhibition. I did not get how this was in _any way_ related to Sherlock jumping from… a roof (?).

I Still haven’t got it.

I went up, my heart beating like _super_ fast. Really _super super_ fast. And hard. I grabbed the napkin with Irene Adler’s number on it.

Now it’s Sunday morning, 5 a.m. Haven’t slept. Haven’t even tried to. I still have her number in my left hand and my phone in my right hand. Daddy has not come back yet.

***

**Monday - 11/02/2030**

It’s lunchtime. Or around lunchtime. Maybe a bit after lunchtime. Actually, well, ookay, lunchtime is far over. But we went through maths (***maths***), Chinese and chemistry and we eventually ended up skipping class because Yifan and Kiara couldn’t wait anymore.

So we hid in the toilets and I showed them my phone.

I texted Irene Adler yesterday. Well, I waited until 8 a.m. and then I texted. Or tried to. I needed like half an hour to be able to click “send”. So the first text was sent around 8:30 in the morning. Quite early for a Sunday morning.

08:30 - Hello !

08:30 - Are you Irene Adler ?

08: 31 - Are you The Woman ?

08:33 - Do you know Sherlock Holmes ?

I had almost died with anxiety. But as no answer came, I had started to relax a bit. And then, suddenly :

**08:40 - May I know who I am speaking to ?**

**08:41 - Is this John Watson ?**

I hadn’t be able to answer. My hands had been shaking too much.

**08:45 - No, wait… this is ROSIE Watson.**

**08:46 - Did you sneak into Sherlock’s phone ?**

08:47 - How do you know ?

**08:50 - I know Sherlock, I know John. I know you are 13. I know who I gave THIS very phone number to. I am not Sherlock Holmes but I am no dumbass. I am able to be deductive to a certain degree.**

Reading that, Yifan and Kiara made the same face as I did : *woaow*

**08:53 - Why are you texting me ?**

08:53 - Because I want to know you.

**08:56 - Well… That came unexpected.**

**08:56 - Why ?**

08:57 - Because you are part of that past that happened before I was born.

**08:57 - Briefly. Not worth to mention.**

08:59 - Everyone is bringing you up as soon my Dad’s past is talked about for more than 6 minutes. You have to matter somehow. I want to know how.

**09:00 – I hardly know why anyone would mention me when speaking about John Watson’s past. I am no Mary Morstan. Don’t get wrong here.**

09:04 – Well… I am no dumbass myself. You are Irene Adler, not Mary Morstan. And as you surely know, I actually have two Dads.

I am soooooo proud of that very text. It sounds sooooo mature and articulate… sooo _cool_. Yifan and Kiara agreed.

**09:05 - Ask your Dads, then.**

09:05 - LMAO

**09:06 - I am afraid, I am too old for such coded content.**

09:07 - LAUGHING MY ASS OFF

**09:08 - Well… I used too. It’s right that your parents are bad when it comes to actually _talk_. Can drive one mad. Ask the Landlady.**

09:10 - She is an old Lady.

**09:10 - She’s tough, don’t worry.**

**09:12 - Anyway. Your parents are in love. Have been for ages. Trust that if you don’t trust anything else.**

At that point, feeling I wouldn’t get any information following that path, I had decided to change the pitch angle. I had caught my normal breathing rhythm back. I had felt strong and confident. When Yifan and Kiara read the following text, they got big eyes. Kiara awed : you dared ?!

09:15 - Who is Jim Moriarty ?

**09:15 - He’s dead.**

09:16 - Was my Mum an assassin ?

**09:17 - John Watson married her. I think you have your answer there.**

09:17 - I don’t understand.

**09:18 - Well, I leave you to your deductions.**

09:18 - You know Creepy Mycroft ?!

**09:20 - The Ice Queen ? Yes, unfortunately.**

09:21 - The Ice Queen…! Rly??? ROFL!!!

As Yifan and Kiara never actually met Mycroft, they couldn’t understand how that was funny. But they didn’t bother. This was irrelevant.

**09:22 - Well. Are we done yet ?**

09:23 - No ! Not at all ! When was the last time you saw my parents ?

**09:23 - Haven’t seen them for ages.**

09:24 - How come ?

**09:26 - I don’t live in London, Dear.**

09:26 - But… you kept in touch with Sherlock ?

**09:28 - How is this related ?**

09:29 - I don’t know.

09:35 - I don’t know much. I am lost. That’s why I am seeking for answers and why I am writing to you. Would you mind answering me ?

**09:44 – I’m not good at that, Darling. Ask the Hooper girl. Or the Lestrade bloke. They are better than me at patching teenagers together and cheering them up. You don’t know me. You don’t want to. I suggest you to leave the past being the past. You weren’t there and don’t need to be there. Life existed before you and will afterwards. Enjoy the present and your parents as what they are _now_.**

**09:46 - Also, erase my number and stop sneaking in Sherlock’s (or anybody’s else) stuff. This is not suitable. Never was, will never be.**

09:47 - Did Sherlock tell you about the adoption ?

**09:48  - Darling, this is none of your business.**

09:49 - Well… a bit. As I am the one he is supposed to adopt. So ?

**09:53 - Fair enough. But still. My relation to Sherlock Holmes is my very private concern and this is not to be shared with anyone. Sherlock Holmes is a very private person. So I am. You just stepped into something you don’t really want to know about. So leave it there and erase all this.**

09:55 - No, this is precisely what I want to know. So ?

**10:00 -  I have nothing to add.**


	3. Third week : 12/02/2030 - 18/02/2030

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi !  
> Well... Rosie has spent another week posting stuff on Tumblr. ;)  
> Oh yeah, I may have forgotten o inform you : of course, in this world, TFP did never happen and... T6T happened but myabe not exactly the way it was shown on screen. :)  
> I love lending Rosie my pen, I hope you enjoy reading it.  
> Thank you for all the hits and the kudos, that's so sweet. <3

**Tuesday - 12/02/2030 (part 1)**

Actually, yesterday, we got caught. Yifan, Kiara and I, in the toilets. That was a shame. A tremendous humiliation !!!

ANOYING ANOYING ANOYING ! 

_“Ms. Rosamund Watson was found hiding inside the WC with two of here classmates instead of attending her class.”_

I tried to bargain, Yifan even tried her magical “sweet-bunny-look” and almost cried, “please, don’t put the word WC on it”… but there was nothing to do… The clerk just went on, heartless. Damn grownups !!!

 GOD ! And my parents… well actually my _official_ parent-with-no-s has to _sign_  this.

Gggggggggh, I’m done. Farewell Human dignity. How could one be so cruel ???

Anyway. This is not _that_ bad compared to :

\- my fucked Chinese vocabulary test I will also have to hand back signed next week and (Lol, I got D-. The teacher, Mrs Woodbridge, said she avoided the E because I was able to write my name flawless… sooo kind, I LOVE to be pitied at…) well,

\- Daddy not having been home since Saturday evening,  and

\- me, sleeping at Molly’s and only getting news through Irene Adler and Harry regarding my parents.

Actually, on Sunday, after Irene Adler had decided… wait, I found that word… I looked it up in Molly’s old Harap’s book (God, she actually IS old…) ow yes : _unilaterally_.

So, once Irene Adler had decided _unilaterally_ (meaning : without taking my opinion into account) to end our conversation, I slowly went out of my room and went down to the living room. I didn’t know what to expect. And I found a totally hazed Sherlock wearing his dark red dressing gown over the very cloths he was wearing on Saturday’s evening, pacing wild around in the kitchen while smoking. YES. He was _smoking_. He saw me and froze. This was bad. But even worse, his loose gaze, not being able to focus. I shyly tried to pretend everything was fine :

“Morning !”

But it wasn’t fine. He did not answer. He just started to pace again. Ooookay. So… this was Sherlock without Daddy for _one night_. I didn’t want to picture a Sherlock without Daddy for _one day_. Imagine _two days_ ??? God he had to come back, roof jump or no roof jump, this was ridiculous ! I wanted my life back. Still want. And my parents. _Both of them_.

“Watson… what about spending the Sunday with Molly ?”

He was not even looking at me. This was not a question. As I already said, I am an _almost_ grownup, I know when it is useless and when it is useful to argue. So I went up, called Molly and half an hour later, she was picking me up. As I went down, Mrs H. poked out her door, silently asking what all this was about. I just shrugged. I didn’t know. Something about a roof and about my mother. She rolled her eyes and made an annoyed noise. She nevertheless wished me a happy Sunday and went up. I love her. Molly was silent. Stella was at her place. We had a cosy breakfast and talked about Paris. Stella had looked up : it really might work.

Around noon, I got a text from Harry : “Rosie, my love, this is Daddy. I am at Harry’s. I forgot my phone at home. I needed a bit space. I will be home tomorrow evening, do not worry.”

“I am at Molly’s.”

“Good.”

“Dad, Sherlock is smoking.”

“Rosie… I know.”

As Molly and Stella settled in to watch some dull romance on Netflix, I turned back to Irene Adler. I was not done with her. Not the _slightest_.

15:34 - Are you a lesbian ?

**15:43- Oh. Junior is back. Would have been surprised if not. So we are discussing sexual orientation now ?**

15:43 - Are you a lesbian ?

**15:44 - Define lesbian.**

15:44 - A woman falling for women ?

**15:45 - Fine then… define woman.**

15:44 - A person with a vagina ?

**15:53 - Please, Junior, I have no time for that. Educate yourself : go down to the Landlady and ask her for “Gender Troubles” by Judith Butler, and “The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir. Learn how _one is not born, but rather becomes a woman_  and start distinguishing the terms “sex” and “gender”. That will do for a start. And then, we might actually be able to have somewhat of a proper conversation. **

15:53 - I can’t go down, I am not home, Sherlock sent me away.

**15:53 - You won’t make me cry, Darling.**

15:54 - Maybe you should talk to him… he was smoking in the kitchen, this morning.

**15:58 - Mmmh… Did your parents have a domestic ? All couples do, no matter to worry there. Let the big brainy boy smoke. This has always turned his Doctor on, they will have great dinner after that. Angry smoky sex is the best one.**

16:00 - How is sex related to diner ?

**16:02 - Well it is. Ask your parents, might be fun.**

16:05 - Is all this somehow related to army boots ?

**16:05 - Well this is getting really funny. Army boots ? Who told you about that ?**

16:06 - What’s a kink ?

**16:06 - Junior, where is this conversation supposed to lead to ? Is this sex ed ? Can’t you google yourself around and gain this knowledge by yourself ?**

16:07 - Well… I have no personal computer, only my phone. And Daddy can see every single webpage or google request I make on the monthly bill. I can’t… do research on that. He would know.

**16:08 - Well if you get caught while searching “army boots kink” on the internet, I promise you, you will have some fun. Add “smoky eyes make-up kink” and your grace will be complete.**

16:10 – Whatever. Are you a lesbian ?

**16:11 – Well… I’m married to a woman. Does that make me a lesbian ?**

**16:11 – Is the Hooper girl a lesbian ?**

16:12 – She is not married.

**16:12 – Well, that is actually interesting. So to be a lesbian, one has to be married ? You consider this to be a social construct, then ? Maybe you are more educated than I thought.**

16:13 – Er…

**16:15 – Okay, got it. I overrated you. We actually won’t be able to have an interesting conversation. That saddens me. Kate being out, I was hoping for some distraction.**

16:15 -  Who is Kate ?

**16:16 – My wife.**

16:18 – If you are married to a woman and Sherlock is married to my Daddy (who is a man), that makes you a lesbian and Sherlock a gay man ?

**16:19 – Well, basically, leaving out all the sophistication and subtlety of actual _real world_ sexual orientation, yes, it’s a way to put this. Why you are insisting on the “being married part”, I don’t know.**

16:20 – Well marriage is a commitment, no ? So… if you marry someone, you chose him/her and that should mean that you will stick to him/her and this will lead to… prevent your sexuality from… changing somehow ?

**16:21 – Junior, you know that some people do actually marry for tax refund, don’t you ?**

16:21 – Oh.

**16:22 – Sorry to break your false “romantic” marriage idea. Well, no, I’m not sorry. Anyway, no, marriage never prevented anyone’s sexuality from… evolving. Even a “love marriage” based on true commitment. One’s sexuality, identity, tastes, etc. are fluid matter. It may always evolve.**

16:23 – But do you like guys ?

**16:24 – Well… I happen to have liked _some_ guys. But generally speaking, my comfort zone definitively evolves around women.**

16:24 – How long have you been with Kate ?

**16:25 -  I fail to understand how this is any of your concern ?**

16:25 – Were you already settled with her, in love with her, when you met my parents ? When was that ? Is she The One ? Has she already been at that time ?

**16:26 – Junior, why restrain to one single person ? You may love several… even at the same time.**

16:24 -  Wait, really ?

**16:25 – Yes. It’s not always possible to “chose” between two (or more !) people. Love is always valid. Shared or not. Everything else is bullshit.**

16:26 – So… if someone does love… let’s say a girl and a boy at the same time, that is valid ?

**16:27 – Yes Darling, it is. The love is valid. The situation may be complicated to handle, though. You may wanna read some books by Franklin Veaux or Dossie Easton about polyamory.**

16:28 – Is Sherlock polyamorous ?

**16:29 – Junior, I can’t follow your thoughts process. Why are we talking about Sherlock Holmes here ? You really think that dude may be able to handle more than one romantic relation at a time ? Are we talking about the same man ?**

16:31 – Does Sherlock like women ?

**16:32 – Junior…**

16:32 – So ?

**16:35 -  I shouldn’t answer that… but regarding Sherlock… I am pretty confident in saying that he is the “level zero” reference for sexual orientation fluidity. I guess he wouldn’t even notice if he suddenly happened to feel something -physical- for a woman…**

**16:37 -  So… no, he doesn’t like women.**

16:39 – But… then… WHY is Daddy THAT jealous about you if you are a lesbian liking women and Sherlock is a gay man not liking women and he is not polyamorous and…

**16:42 – Oh.**

**16:42 -  Now I get it.**

16:43 -  So ?

**16:54 – Darling. We never met, but you should now that I am what is commonly called an attractive woman. It’s actually part of my job. Your Sherlock Dad is (even if you might not perceive him that way) an utmost handsome man. John Watson is well aware of that. He has the eyes and the mind-set to feel both our respective attractiveness.**

**16:56 – We all three met at a time where your parents were not officially a couple. I know what people like, I saw it from the very start that those two really _liked_ each other. Anyway, that wasn’t clear to them. I tried to help a bit in that matter. Worked well.**

**16:58 – John Watson is also an attractive man, but he fails to notice this about himself. He also fails to understand that not everyone is like him, being able to feel attracted, with no distinction, on a regular basis, to both, men and women, regardless of gender. He likes boobs and beards equally. So it might just appear normal to him that Sherlock Holmes might want to shag me, fall in love and buy me a cottage in Sussex. But he is wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong.  A ** **rmy boots don’t suit me AT ALL, that alone would make it impossible on the long run ;)******

**17:00 – Anyway… Sherlock Holmes being smart but not _that_ smart, he fails to understand all this. Or he understands it in some way, but not completely. He used to use me to make your Daddy jealous without actually knowing why your Daddy would get jealous. Had his fun. But now, damage is done that cannot be undone. Your Dads are two idiots.**

17:03 -  And why is Sherlock jealous of my Mum ?

**17:04 – Oh. Serious matter, here.**

**17:05 -  Leave the past being the past, Junior. You’re the future. Enjoy it.**

***

**Tuesday - 12/02/2030 (part 2)**

Great, I GOT IT. Irene Adler is not less a grownup than as all the others.

“Leave the past being the past”…

GOD I HATE this. Is this from “The Lion King” or what ? This is BAD and CHEESY ! No wonder Daddy thinks Sherlock may have an affair with her regarding their shared taste for silly sentences.

“Leave the past being the past”

LEAVE ME ALONE !!!

I HATE it when adults don’t take me seriously. I HATE it. “I am the future” ggggggggg blah blah blah… I’m sure “future” is nothing more than a _social construct_ anyway, whatever that means.

Social construct my ass.

Anyway, Sunday came to an end sitting on the couch between Molly and Stella binge watching Jane Austen movies and TV adaptations.

Is binge watching also a _social construct_ ?

I didn’t go home on Sunday evening. I slept in Molly’s guest room. She lent me her old Mr Halloway sheep. It’s not as good as Mrs HoneyBee but still better than nothing. On Monday morning, when I woke up, I put my “reserve cloths” on (I have always some underwear and a school uniform ready at Molly’s, because… well, with Sherlock’s job, you really never know if 221B is not suddenly getting surrounded by the press people or by an assassin’s gang. So…)

On Monday morning, I got a text

\- from Harry :

07:32 - Hi Rosie, it’s Harry. I hope you’re well. Please don’t worry. Your Dad is a bit tired and slept at my place tonight again. He is heading to his practice right now. I will keep you informed.

\- from Irene Adler :

08:09 - Junior. This was more of a heavy domestic. No big news here, your Sherlock Dad is not quite well. Someone should convince John Watson to come home quite soon.

Well, and then we got caught.

After school I went home and knocked at Mrs Hudson’s door. She looked somewhat tired and told me it would be better if I stayed one more night at Molly’s. Sherlock was better, he had actually calmed down and was currently out, working on some case. So I went up and collected my stuff as fast as possible. When I passed the kitchen table on my way out, I noticed Daddy’s buzzing phone. I decided to take it and bring it to his practice. Woaow, 4 texts messages from Inspector Sally Donovan, Stella’s colleague, and the one that just got in, from Greg. Worried, I opened them :

09:48 - Watson, Hi, Donovan here. Saturday was a fucking NIGHTMARE but it was NOTHING compared to THAT. Would you mind, when he is in SUCH a fucking bad mood, putting your Weirdo on a leash and accompany him ?? I am a Scotland Yard Inspector, I am NO fucking PUNSHING BALL !!!

10:51 - Watson, Hi. My patience really runs thin, here. I warn you, if that case is not solved within two days, I will personally charge your psychopath of a husband for moral harassment. And I will charge you for complicity. I am deadly serious.

11:39 - Watson, I am done. Come NOW and get your FREAKING PSYCHO HUSBAND OF A JUNKIE back or I will throw him bare-handed into a cell. And will force him through a rehab program.

11:43 – Watson… I am beyond words.

17:18 – Afternoon John. I don’t want to interfere in anyway in your private life and put my nose in something which is not my business but… would you please talk to Sherlock and settle your argument ? We can’t afford another day like that. I need my Inspectors and I need Sherlock Holmes. I am not the youngest anymore and if I could avoid having a stroke because of Sherlock Holmes being upset by his family life, I would be glad : Inspector Sally Donovan almost had a nervous breakdown and, well, Sherlock ended up on some register for a psychiatric asylum for dangerous criminals. I was able to intervene just minutes before he actually got transferred to said asylum. This is serious matter, here. I really think this adoption is a great idea and I think this will make all three of you a happy family. Please, for everyone’s sake, including yours and Rosie’s and mine, don’t spoil everything because of old demons from another age. Moriarty, Magnusson, Morstan… they all are dead. The only remaining M is of no danger anymore. So please, be a sensible man, or at least behave as one : go home and talk with your husband. We all know he is waiting for you and doesn’t know how to handle this without the use of drugs. Don’t put yourself and him and all of us through that number again. Nobody needs that.

Another texte message arrived while I was reading Greg’s attempt to… sound like a dad to my Dad ? LMAO.

17:22 -  Or… at least, please, let me know when you have a serious fight, so I will know that Sherlock Holmes is emotionally not available and would avoid to make him investigate on Inspector’s Donovan cases. Also… I managed to convince Inspector Donovan to not organise a drug bust at your flat, but this is not durable. I think Sherlock should be home by now. He won’t answer my calls.

After reading that, I did not hesitate any longer and hurried to the practice.

***

**Tuesday - 12/02/2030 (part 3)**

Good thing about automatic tubes : they are never late and super reliable. Daddy told me once there used to actually be drivers inside the tubes and they would drive them along the tunnels. That sounds sooooooo XXth Century alike !

At the practice, I kindly said hello to the young lady at the entrance desk (I don’t know, I have the feeling there is a new one like every three weeks or so… never understood why) and sat down in the waiting room. There was another person waiting. So I texted Irene, Molly, Harry and Sherlock.

18:01 - Hi Harry, I am fine. I am at Daddy’s practice to bring him back his phone.

18:03 - Hi Sherlock, I am fine. I just went home to collect my stuff. I will sleep at Molly’s. I took Daddy’s phone. I am at his practice to give it back to him. He slept at Harry’s last two nights. <3

18:05 – Molly, Hi ! I went home to get my stuff. I found Daddy’s phone. Am currently at his practice to give it back to him. See you later.

18:06 – I am at Daddy’s practice. I’ve got his phone. I don’t understand anything. Would you mind explaining ?

**18:07 – Well, Junior good evening. Explaining what ?**

18:08 – Moriarty, Magnusson and Morstan. And the fourth M.

**18:09 – They’re dead. Period.**

18:10 – Shall I ask my parents ?

**18:12 – I wouldn’t suggest that, right now.**

**18: 12 - What is this obsession all about ?**

18:13 – I don’t know. I handed Sherlock some adoption forms and… suddenly all Daddy and him were talking about implied jumping from a roof, being dead, dismantling a mafia in Serbia, Jim Moriarty, my Mum being an assassin, Daddy being a drinker, Daddy being violent, Sherlock being shot… And NOBODY wants to give me any _real_ explanation.

**18:17 – I see.**

18:17 – So ?

18:18 - Who is Jim Moriarty ?

**18:19 - Ask the Lestrade bloke.**

18:19 - I'm asking you.

**18:21 - Wrong person. I won’t say anything. Leave him alone, he is of no interest. Go read Angela Davis’ work instead, put something useful into your brain.**

18:23 - He made Sherlock jump from a roof ?

**18:24 - Christ Junior, don’t go down there.**

18:25 - I already am. I want to understand.

**18:31 - He… liked your Sherlock Dad. Wanted to play with him. Made him jump from a roof, yes, just for fun. He was a bad guy. Really bad. You don’t wanna know.**

18:32 – But WHY did Sherlock Jump ?

**18:37 - To actually save the people he loved. Jim Moriarty wanted to “burn the heart out of him”. Just for fun. Almost managed. But failed in the very end. Because your parents are two. It’s always two of them. So he died. Well I don’t miss him. Nobody does. Let him be. He has done enough damage.**

I didn’t get a chance to reply as suddenly Daddy was standing in front of me, in his white kittle, arms crossed, face serious. He looked grey and tired. So… THAT was Daddy without Sherlock for two days. I swallowed :

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He bent over to kiss my forehead.

“I went home and found your phone on the table. I thought it would be easier if you had it. I read your text messages. You got some from Inspector Donovan and two from Greg.”

He frowned while taking the phone : “Rosie…”

“I also wanted to see you.”

He looked at me and melted. His eyes went warm, his face sweetened up, he even smiled. He nodded and relaxed. I patched his wrist. He read the messages. He almost fell on the seat next to mine and slowly grabbed his head with a big sigh.

I asked very carefully : “Daddy, what is this all about ?”

He rose his gaze and looked at me between his fingers.

“We…”

“Who is Jim Moriarty ? Why did Sherlock jump from a roof ?”

Daddy tensed.

“Of course you heard us on Saturday…”

I wanted to add like “well yes and on Friday, and on Thursday and on Wednesday and…” but I remained silent (maybe I should join a chess club or something… I find myself _really good_ at strategic and tactical thinking…). However. He went on, voice thin and flat, breathing deeply, face and shoulders tensed. His scar seemed to cause him pain, he was slowly rubbing it without seeming to notice : “Jim Moriarty was an insane criminal who had decided he would play cat and mouse with Sherlock just to… not be bored. He was very dangerous. He had many people working for him. Powerful people.”

He seemed to search for some proper wording. GOD as if I was 6 or something… When he spoke again, there was some sort of thump growling under his stiff voice : “At some point, he managed to trap Sherlock, to make the world believe Sherlock was all fake, and to force him to fake his own suicide in jumping from Saint-Bart’s roof. I was there, I have seen it. -he swallowed- Well… Sherlock couldn’t tell me he was alive and so I grieved. I was… hardly alive for several months. And while Sherlock was travelling around the world to dismantle Moriarty’s net, I met your Mum and started to survive again. She helped me getting better. And… I proposed. And Sherlock suddenly was back. Not dead. It had been my very dream for two years, you know… I had wished so hard for him not being dead… But… well, I am a docotor and a soldier, it can hardly get more sensible, so… I was wishing but not believing, and… But… suddenly he just _was_ there… But… I… had been mourning for two years, I couldn’t suddenly jump back to… this was… and anyway you wouldn’t be there if I had. And I therefore married your Mum. You have the pictures. Sherlock was my best man at that wedding. He made it…”

He closed his eyes. His voice felt like squeezed out of his chest, he seemed to… force himself into speaking. This was _difficult_ , I could see it.

“He made it… -he swallowed hard, licked his lips, shut his eyes- quite clear how he was feeling towards me during his best man's speech. Too late, of course. I was… so lost and confused. It’s hard to explain. Anger, regrets, fear… not a nice cocktail. Your Mum and Sherlock didn’t get along very well. And he had actually failed at dismantling Moriarty’s net. So it all restarted again. Eventually… your Mum got shot. I moved back to 221B and… well… Sherlock and I _talked_. Or maybe I was the only one to talk… who knows. I don’t.”

He opened his eyes and rose his gaze to met mine. He smiled : “ _You_ made us actually talk. And… thanks to you… we were able to find some balance and to build something… really worth it. We were able to leave the past behind and to turn to the future.”

“So why is that past coming back ?”

“Because I think there are some key points we… omitted to discuss. And once again… we will have to talk, both of us this time, because of you.”

He smiled. Quite shyly.

“I will go home tonight. Greg is right, Sherlock needs me. He might behave as the biggest dick on earth… but this is just Sherlock being afraid and in need of a hug. I know it but damn… I’m just human, I can’t always be available on demand when my husband suddenly freaks out for reasons I don’t get and which will take days to work out of him… I’m no fucking psychiatrist and… arf, however… now that he knows I have my phone back, he will turn insane if I don’t text. I have to go home. And, anyway, Harry’s couch is by no means an option for a third night.”

My eyes went big : “You left your phone home on purpose ?!”

He smiled again. A sad smile. He scratched his head and went slowly up. He looked so tired. So… old.

“I think it’s better if I stay at Molly’s”.

“Yeah, I think so. Two people might be difficult for him to handle right now.”

I took my bag, closed my coat and was stepping out when he called me back :

“Rosie, love… I am proud of you. I am a really proud Dad of a wonderfull daughter. Thank you for being who you are. Times are a bit… stormy right now but don’t worry. This ship will navigate safely back to harbour. I promise.”

I just nodded.

Harbour, harbour… meanwhile, I would have to investigate harder.

Today nothing happened. I told Yifan and Kiara about all this and they decided to get involved as well. Time for them to investigate too. Tonight I am still not going home. Daddy wrote something about not to worry but the flat (the ***flat***) needed some… cleaning. Sherlock and himslef would wait for me tomorrow evening. Molly knew and was not surprised when I showed up after school. Stella came over with some funny cupcakes and it was a nice evening after all. And Yifan is investigating on the internet. So… wait and see ! :)

***

**Wednesday 13/02/2030 (part 1)**

Major alarm : tomorrow is Saint-Valentine’s Day and Yifan needs our advice.

Well… I don’t know about Saint-Valentine’s Day as I… never had an opportunity to actually celebrate it. According to my parents… well… it has always been a complicated day. 

–> Of course Sherlock would forget about it because, “well John, this is useless knowledge, it barely makes sense, who was that Valentine in the first place ?” and Daddy would just pretend it’s all right, like, it's anyway only a silly commercial event with no soul and no purpose, see, Rosie, we have our very own special day, the only one that matters, the 29th of January and… well… there would be a chocolate box on the table or some flowers in a beer glass or… whatever cheesy stuff you might imagine and Daddy would be all “ _oooooooooooooow_ ” and Sherlock would just be like : “Well, I worked on a case today and it involved some flowers/chocolate/teddy bear _[whatever]_ and so I thought that…”

And OF COURSE, they would _kiss_.

Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss with fluffy angel wings and… _irk_.

BORING.

Well… boring but funny. But kind. But safe. But… home. No. I won’t cry again. I am _no_ Sherlock.

Yifan, beneath her Saint Valentine anxiety, came to school with some interesting stuff she had grabbed from internet. She is _not_ on constant watch, she is actually allowed to have SOME privacy… her Mum and Grandma let her look up whatever she wants with no control or whatsoever. She even has her own twitter account… I mean please. This is actually how I knew Sherlock just announced the whole world he just got married. She even owns her own personal computer. Well Kiara does too, but her internet access is strongly restrained. And she didn’t dare to ask her big bro. Anyway, Yifan did some research (she actually spent the _whole night_ on this) and found following :

\- Irene Adler used to be a dominatrix (???) living in London, but she seems to be dead (*sigh*),

\- Jim Moriarty was a bloke put on trial like 18 years ago but was found innocent and eventually died 13 years ago in a “car accident” involving a waterfall in Switzerland (*sigh*),

\- Charles Augustus Magnussen was some huge press and media king who died back in 2014, shot by an unknown person in his super rich-guy villa (*sigh*).

GREAT. And she didn’t find anything relevant about Morstan. I somehow _know_ that name, but I can’t find how, right now.

She also found some article about Sherlock himself :

\- several articles from between 2010-2012 in which Sherlock Holmes seems to be a relatively unknown person and in which Daddy is referred at as his “live-in PA”, "personnal blogger" (?) and “bachelor” and so on. Were they already together ? I thought not…

\- several dated 2012 in which Sherlock Holmes is called a fraud and relating his suicide after having been exposed by… Jim Moriarty (???),

\- several dated 2014 in which Sherlock is actually not a fraud anymore and seems to have come back to life,

\- another articles bunch of another kind in which a Janine person tells a lot of dirty things she did with him while they were in a relationship (????). The couple broke off because Sherlock was shot (????),

\- a single article from 2017 in which Sherlock’s name was mentioned in relation to a shooting in the Royal Aquarium of London. Nothing precise, nothing of importance but… I kind of knew what this was related to. My stomach contracted a bit. It suddenly all felt so… real.

Yifan was at first reluctant to show those findings about Sherlock but eventually decided I already knew my Mum was shot in the Aquarium, that he had faked his suicide and done some strange and crazy stuff, so she showed it. It did hurt, though. Reading that kind of stuff about Sherlock, my Dad, at a time he was not even in a relationship with my other Dad.

Anyway… Yifan had spent the whole night on those and… God, how could that be of any help ?

Kiara had a super relevant comment about all that : “Well, your Dads were really freaking hot 20 years ago…”

Were they ?

She added : “You actually really look a lot like your Dad. Except for the smile.”

Yeah I know. I have a killer smile. LMAO.

In the end I gave Molly a call to know about Saint Valentine and she was the opinion Yifan shouldn’t push it. Just do as felt right, meaning that if she wanted to make a gift, she should but otherwise no. She said flowers are ALWAYS welcome. A single one. Molly is great.

School is done now. I am heading home. What will I find there ?

***

**Wednesday 13/02/2030 (part 2)**

Well, When I finally got home (traffic was stopped half an hour because of the automatic watering of the public vegetable crispers hanging down the streetlights and bus stops… how silly of me, I had forgotten it was Wednesday… at least I was lucky enough to grab a salad and a small pumpkin while my bus was waiting), I paused in front of the door. Everything was quite. So, no shouting then. But one could cry silently. Or sulk. Or be dead.

Wait, no. Leave the dramatic outside of this.

So, I grabbed the handle and opened the door. I only heard the low humming of the washing machine. The flat was clean and tidy, but despite the obvious cleaning and aeration, a slight tobacco smell remained floating around.

I went inside the kitchen.

Oh.

There they were, sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall under the window. Asleep. Sherlock’s head tilted on Daddy’s left shoulder, and Daddy’s nose nested in Sherlock’s curls. Daddy’s right hand rested on Sherlock’s right forearm, and I could see, between Daddy’s fingers, a tobacco patch sticked on said right forearm. Daddy’s left sock had a hole. GOD I could hear the little annoyed “chirp” Kiara would have done if she'd seen that. I mean… the “chirp” I would have done if I knew how to do that… because, yeah, Kiara would _never eve_ r address that specific “chirp” to my Dad. But I would, no hesitation.

I just watched them sleep for a while. It was all welcomely peaceful somehow. Odd but peaceful. Well… not _that_ odd. I used to sit under this very windows very often, with Sherlock. We would just drink some hot milk and talk about very serious matter or play some snakes and ladders or patch some trousers or… but this was another age, soooo long ago, like at least… 3 years ? I was a _child_ back then. We don’t do that anymore.

There could be around five hundred possibilities why they had fallen asleep there, on the ground, under that very window. At least five hundred other possibilities why they were sitting there in the first place.

I had a devilish smile while imagining their poor aching backs and bottoms when they would wake. Old people shouldn’t sit on the ground like this. Anyway, I left my salad and my pumpkin on the table and went up. I had some homework to do and… a Mrs HoneyBee to cuddle.

Yeah, I know, ALMOST grownup.

I was just done with Chinese and ***maths*** when someone gently knocked at my door. It was Daddy. Ha ha, I knew it : he was all ruffled and crumpled… poor old aching bones. He bent over my desk, tried to hide his yawn but failed and wile smiling at my maths, suggested we go to Angelo’s. I had no time to answer : he had found a mistake on my maths sheet and was poking on it with his streched index finger. GOD I HATE THIS.

“Well, by the time you have corrected this, Sherlock will be fully awake and we might be able to move. I’m calling the cab.”

He dropped a kiss on my head and went out. I was torn between my hate for Daddy being soooooo “dadylike blah blah blah correct this, gggggggggggggrrrrrah” and my happiness for this recovered normality.

Half an hour later I heard Daddy call me from downstairs. I hadn’t found the fucking mistake and was drowning in desperation over my math sheet. Anyway, _this_ was more important than ***maths*** and was worth any possible disdainful remark of Mr. O’Tool. HOWEVER : play it cool, girl.

I did. I am soooooo good at that. I am soooo good at getting those stairs down like I’m Empress Sissi (special dedication to Romi Schneider, here ^^). Daddy, holding my coat, couldn’t resist an eye-roll and an annoyed “hurry-up-girl” hand gesture, while Sherlock was looking at his feet.

When I reached them, I grabbed my coat with one hand, and Sherlock’s hand with the other. He didn’t look up, but he smiled. Daddy smiled to. And so we went all three, silent but happy and smiling, to Angelo’s. I didn’t let Sherlock’s hand go before we were sitting at the little table the owner had reserved for us. Daddy did the most of the conversation, talking about funny patients or funny stories back from his army days. Sherlock remained silent. I told them about Jane Austen movies and badmouthed about Mr. O’Tool. A LOT.

 It was a very very very nice evening. A quiet, sweet, happy family evening.

 I will sleep so well tonight.

 So well.

***

**Thursday 14/02/2030**

Saint Valentine.

Yifan bought Henry a flower. A single one. And he was actually super happy. They were both on their little cloud all day long. So I spent it mostly with Kiara. Mr. O’Tool didn’t get a chance to disdain me as he asked someone else (Shane) to solve said exercise-from-hell. Everything went fine. I even got where I was mistaken. Speaking about miracles…

To my utmost surprise, after school ended (looong after math class !), a very shy and blushing Heather handed me a single flower, a sunflower. I was speechless. Kiara had to bump her elbow into my ribs so I was able to breath, or think, or just “be” again. Anyway, by time I regained “Planet Earth”, Heather was gone. Kiara couldn’t stop making fun of me. Fair enough. We went to 221B together. Daddy was at his practice, of course, and Sherlock… well, he wasn’t home. Maybe out working on that Donovan case to avoid being charged for harassment or so. Well, Kiara and I settled on the kitchen table (to be noticed : a CLEAN kitchen table with no eye or finger or anything else whatsoever spooking around) and I almost had a stroke when I found that small note from Josh inside my bag. Kiara, who was putting Heather’s flower in some empty milk bottle filed with water, flipped around and dropped the bottle when she heard me scream.

“WHAT ????”

I couldn’t read the note.

She did it for me while I cleaned the ground with shaking hands.

“Well… he says he likes you. That all this is complicated but that he trusts his feelings and that there might be enough room for Heather and you in his heart.”

She made a face.

If this had been anyone’s else note than Josh’s (I mean, a note from Josh to meeee !!!) I would have made the same face : CHEEEEEESY.

But this was _different_. In a butterfly kind different.

Kiara was as happy as I was knocked out.

Neither of us could concentrate on this crap of Roal Dahl short story we had to read and analyze for tomorrow. Suddenly she closed her book, slammed it on the table and stated, casually : “Well, Rosie, maybe you should just text that Irene woman again and ask her about this polyamory stuff. She seems to know a lot of stuff. Interesting stuff. I didn’t tell, but yesterday, I actually looked this woman up, this Angela Davis she told you to read about, and that was… _fascinating_. It’s worth a try. Yifan was SO right in convincing you to text her !”

Maybe Kiara was right.

Of course she was right.

But I was afraid.

Still am.

So, instead of texting Irene Adler, we both went up to put my Heather-flower and my Josh-note on my desk in my room (I mean… PRIVACY, HELLO ???), went down to Mrs H. and asked her for “Gender troubles “ and “the Second Sex” as Irene Adler had told me to.

I would do it again and again and again just to be able to see Mrs H. amazed face again. We spent a GREAT afternoon at her place, discussing about lots of people Kiara and I had never heard anything about.

Now I know what a _feminist_ is and also what a _social construct_ is.

Mrs H. was sorry not having any book written by Angela Davis in her shelves, but she promised she would ask one of her friends to lend it over for Kiara. Nevertheless we talked and talked and talked until someone knocked at the door : Daddy.

He suggested Kiara stayed for diner and invited Mrs H. but she declined, saying she was tired.

So we went up to finish our unstarted homework while Daddy was being creative around the oven.

Around 8 p.m. Sherlock went home, obviously tired. Tired but happy. He had this mischievous smile on he only uses when… oh here you go, soooooo _predictable_ and _booooring_ :  a red rose and a heart shaped chocolate box. Daddy tried to act like… a _proud_ and _manly_ army doctor on a battelfield but he failed SO HARD even Kiara was unable not to laugh. So he let go, put his marshmallow face on and tiptoed toward Sherlock to grab him by his coat collar and *kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiss* and *kiss* and *kiss* (does it sound like someone sneezes ?) him like… I don’t know, I’m lacking references. Sherlock was happily sniggering while kissing Daddy, both of his hands around Daddy’s face, spread fingers cuping his cheeks. I think it’s the first time I actually noticed how… tall Sherlock is compared to Daddy. Or how short Daddy is compared to Sherlock. Sherlock had to bent down quite a noticable angle while Daddy had to toe up quite high, so they could meet and *kiss*. I don’t know why I suddenly had to think about Stella’s bridge-meeting metaphor (yes, thank you, I know what a _metaphor_ is). I actually liked the picture. I felt happy seeing that bridge. The red rose and the chocolate box had somehow landed on a chair. God, how did they actually breath ?

At least half an eternity (oookay, 4 minutes) (but still, FOUR minutes) later, Sherlock was still sniggering (how…?) and when they finally parted, Kiara had had time to count every little spot on the ceilar and I was utterly displeased to have to watch my two Dads tenderly  _bite_ each other’s fucking _noses_ while _giggling_ and literally _drowning in each other’s gaze_. _Irk_. Sometimes I don’t really know why _I_ am labelled as the teenager in this house.

And when I thought it was all done ( _at least_ )… Well, no… at that very moment, Sherlock smiled his sweetest honey smile and in his deepest velvet voice, purred : “Happy Saint Valentine, John… Watson”

Seriously… I couldn’t tell who shivered the most : Kiara or Daddy. I just dived into my Roal Dahl book.

*sigh*

If I wanted to be a meany teenager, I could have mumbled something about ***army boots*** at that very moment, but well… Kiara was in the room and was already wondering if she actually should be there. And I _know_ how to behave. Yes, I do. Anyway, we spent the evening eating some pumpkin cake while discussing feminism.

Afterwards, Daddy called a cab to drive Kiara home and I was _sent_ to bed. Like… well, just like that : “Rosie, love, leave it, I will handle the dishes, it’s late, go to bed.”

Late.

LATE !

It was like… wel… ooookay, 10 p.m. _could_ be considered as being late to a certain extend but… arf, whatever.

***Army boooots***

I didn’t dare do bring that up. Maybe another time. Sherlock seemed really tired, his gaze was unfocusing again and again, and I had seen the effort he had made to behave and talk _properly_ while Kiara was around. This was a fragile balance, I could tell. I didn’t want to push it. So I waved at him, gave Daddy a kiss and went up.

I heard the violin. Daddy’s song.

The violin has now gone silent. I am lying in my bed, looking at Heather’s flower and Josh’s note. Should I message Irene Adler ?

***

**Friday 15/02/2030**

I didn’t write.

I actually intended to but while I was scrowling back the conversation I had with Irene Adler, I suddenly saw this :

******* **_09:00 – I hardly know why anyone would mention me speaking about John Watson’s past. I am no Mary Morstan. Don’t get wrong here._ *****

Mary Morstan.

Morstan.

I KNEW I had already heard it someh… wait…

I froze.

It hit me like a lightening : _“Well, Mary Morstan did become, at some point, Mary Watson if I may remind you.”_

I shivered hard and gasped for some air. And then my brain started to work like a crazy kaleidoscope-from-hell :

*-*-*

 *** _don’t spoil everything because of old demons from another age. Moriarty, Magnusson, Morstan… they all are dead. The only remaining M is of no danger anymore._ ***

*-*-*

*** _It’s… complicated. Your Mum was a bit… er… unpredictable and er… had also a tough past. She was a tough woman who turned out to be very… er… far from what your Daddy had imagined when he married her. At some point she… put Sherlock’s life in great danger and… got somewhat involved with those very powerful enemies of Sherlock and… er… this were hard times for your Dad. His wife and his best friend, as he was calling Sherlock at that time, were a bit waging war and… er… Rosie, this is really messed up and badly summarized, I am so sorry I don’t really know how to put this… well let’s just say that Sherlock got almost killed and that your Mum was shot._ ***

*-*-*

*** _09:16 - Was my Mum an assassin ?_

**_09:17 - John Watson married her. I think you have your answer there_.*****

*-*-*

I was left panting and feeling sick –so sick- in my bed.

I’m still in my bed. Sick. I have such a headache, I can’t open my eyes in a proper way. I can’t believe what… I don’t understand. I’m not even sure I actually want to understand. I…

Daddy didn’t make me go to school. I know Sherlock stayed at home : he pokes through the door from time to time.

How do you turn a brain off ?

***

**Saturday 16/02/2030**

Yesterday, I got plenty of text messages. From Molly, from Stella, from Kiara, from Yifan… even from Irene Adler. And from an unknown number who remained anonymous. This is all kind and sweet but… Right now, I hardly care.

I spent all day in bed, unable not to think. I HATE thinking.

In the evening, Daddy and Sherlock both came in, stepping slowly over the pink carpet. Daddy sat on my bed edge, at my feet, and Sherlock settled on the ground, cross-legged, by my head. He seemed to be far better.

“Watson, how are you feeling ? Better ? Should your Doctor Dad take a look ?”

I didn’t answer, just closed my eyes. Deduce it by yourself, _genius_.

“You’re angry.”

“Who’s not in this fucking family ?”

“Rosie, watch your mouth !”

“John…”

Silence.

“Why are you angry ?”

As I already mentioned (yes mentally, and ?) : deduce it by yourself, _genius_.

“Rosie, we need you to speak. To tell us… is it about school, is it about us, is it about…”

“Just leave me alone, I am sick.”

Sick _of you_ , could actually have been an appropriate answer. But I was in no need of a dramatic argument.

They had a gaze exchange. Daddy patted gently my calf through the cover and Sherlock sighed.

“Just an idea, Watson… merely a deduction… Maybe you want _us_ to talk ?”

Ow.

Daddy went on, in a gentle slightly hesitant voice : “Feel free to ask, Rosie, love.”

Okay then. Let’s play.

“Mary Morstan…”

“Mary Morstan is your mother. Morstan was her name before we got married.”

“Who was she ?”

While Daddy said carefully : “She was a nurse.”

Sherlock said, disdainfully : “She worked for the Government.”

Great. At least something started to make any sense here : “Like your creepy Mycroft brother ?”

“Kind of.”

“How is she related to Jim Moriarty ?”

“What makes you think she…”

“I read your text messages. The one from Greg about dead people involving Magnusson, Moriarty, Morstan and a fourth M.”

“Morstan is a very common name, you know…”

“Molly told me my Mum got somewhat involved with Sherlock’s powerful enemies. I know that my Mum and _you,_ Sherlock, didn’t really like each other and that she put you, somehow, in great danger… and I know that Jim Moriarty was an insane creep who liked you (I looked at Sherlock, he made a face) and made you jump from a roof and whose net you failed to dismantle despite spending two years on that matter… How many other enemies do you have ?”

They were like hit by the thunder :

“How…”

“I never told you…”

I just snapped dismissively : “Yifan has done some research. She has _actual_ access to the internet, and _Molly_ has at least the decency to answer to my questions in _some way_.”

“Well…”

“So, did Jim Moriarty kill my mother ?”

There was a deadly silence. Daddy’s jaws were so tight, his cheeks were trembling. Sherlock eyes were flipping from one side to the other, unable to focus. I had hit hard. I felt some cruel joy. The game was on.

“Watson… what if… you told us all the things you know ?”

“Why ? Would that help you to decide what to answer and what not ? Who was Janine Hawkins ?”

Dad almost swallowed his tongue and Sherlock froze, eyes open wide. I could have stabbed them, it would have been the same. Daddy was coughing hard, trying to catch his breath : “Wha-at ?!”

I wanted to start getting _really_ angry but Sherlock suddenly answered in a calm voice, like he was explaining some dull geometry : “She lives in Sussex, in a nice cottage.”

“You were in a relationship with her ?”

“Yes, briefly. I might remember proposing to her.”

Daddy rolled his eyes, seemingly exasperate.

“ _W.h.o - w.a.s_ -  _s.h.e_ ?”

Sherlock had the courtesy to answer my poisonous question : “Janine was the maiden of honour of your Mum during _the_ wedding. I was the best man of your Dad, so… it somehow made sense that we ended up together. _Social conventions_ or something.”

Dad roleld his eyes : “Sherlock…”

Sherlock snapped back, petty, fast speaking : “Well, what ? I was b.o.r.e.d and alone and maybe _slightly_ in a vindictive mood and anyway, what was the point ? You had moved out from 221B, your _wife_ was pregnant and I was left on my own to solve Gary’s or Mycroft’s cases…”

“Sherlock…”

But Sherlock went on, speaking even faster : “Magnusson was one of my cases. Janine Hawkins used to work for him... as... his assistant. It was all very convenient. Lestrade is right, he is dead. I killed him. As a high functioning sociopath, I sometimes… behave in an unappropriated way, especially when I’m bored. Or high. or when I want to show off. Or when I feel trapped. He was brilliant, he trapped me.”

“Sherlock !”

He rose a challenging eyebrow at Daddy. Something was burning there. Something unsaid.

“And how…”

“Two seconds, Rosie, love, please. I have to add few details, here.”

Sherlock straightened up and crossed his arms, all his attention focused on Daddy.

“Sherlock, on this planet if there were only two people who wouldn’t buy you sociopath bullshit, it’s Rosie and I.”

He took a deep breath : “So… stop it. Stop the self-depreciation. Just stop it. You didn’t shot Magnusson because you were… bored (eyes roll), you shot Magnusson because he was a threat to _her_ , to… Mary… and therefore to me. It wasn’t even _close_ to sociopathic unappropriated behaviour or whatever bullshit you want to call it, you dick.”

Sherlock looked down, chewing his tongue.

He suddenly looked up, eyes bright : “Anyway, I killed him.”

“Good, and I killed… the cabbie. That wasn’t boredom either.  _Just saying_.”

They were both looking intensely at each other, something was obviously unsaid… and I just… didn’t know _what_ to think. So there we were. It all started with a _killer Mum_ and now I had two _killer Dads_.

Was that funny ?

Might have been in a parallel universe.

But it is my fucking life !!!!!

I must have looked somewhat under shock because suddenly, Daddy gently squeezed my leg and explained, in a soft voice : “Rosie, don’t panick. Let me explain. You know I was a soldier, a Captain. I was on war, I got injured, but I also injured people. You knew this was no picnic, you know what soldiers do on war. No breaking news here. I have seen many people die. Good people, young people. Anyway, I know when it is time to act, and I know how to use a gun. Regarding that cabbie story, Sherlock was in immediate danger. So I shot. And killed. It was self-defence. Regarding Magnusson, he was powerful and had already tried to kill me. It was also self-defence. Your Sherlock Dad is trying to deflect because of…”

“I’m not deflecting, John !”

“… because he still doesn’t take it that he…”

“John…”

“…killed out of love for his husband, hello, by the way, that’s me.”

“I…”

“Yeah, I know, you never told it, never did, never do. But I know anyway. Have had devouring doubts since _the_ stag night but I’ve known for sure since _the_ wedding. I have known for sure since your best man’s speech, even if you've never said something regarding that matter from then on.”

“Oh. Was it that obvious ?”

“God Sherlock… even Greg got it.”

“Oh.”

I was still lying in my bed without knowing how or what to think. I wanted to shout like “HELLO DO YOU REMEMBER ME ????” but… this was actually _talking_. I started to get the feeling that none of us three had the full version of the very story that had lead to our family.

“So… who was killed by my Mum ?”

“She worked under cover for the Government Rosie Sweetie, neither of us knows it. I even doubt your uncle Mycroft knows all of it.”

“Ah.”

There was a silence. And as I mentally checked the bullet points on my list, I noticed which answers were lacking : “So, who killed Jim Moriarty in this Swiss waterfall car crash ?”

They were both amazed : Daddy in a horrified way and Sherlock in an admiring one.

“I think I’m not wrong in presuming my brother stepped in to take care of _that_.”

Daddy gently squeezed my leg, again. Sherlock lent back against my desk and looking around my room he noticed –of course he did- the Heather-flower. He rose an eyebrow. But he didn’t say anything. He just smiled.

My thoughts were dazzling wild around. Or would have if I hadn’t such a headache. I needed some time and some help to sort all this. I would have to ask Yifan and Kiara.

My room was filled with a strange silence. Cosy somehow. But also really unusual. And suddenly, Sherlock, still gazing at my Heather-flower, broke it :

“John… you are right. It was not boredom. It was love.”

There was another short silence during which he turned his gaze to Daddy.

“John… I love you.”

Daddy’s hand squeezed my leg so hard I almost screamed out of surprise. But I didn’t. Because I have a _certain_ experience in “playing cool”. Daddy obviously has too : army training I guess. Wouldn’t his fist have stopped my blood from circulating through my leg right then, I could not have said how shaken and struggling to keep maintenance he actually was. Okay, got it, this would be our Watson’s secret. I started thinking… Daddy often calls Sherlock “love”. I had also heard him confess last week. But I actually couldn’t recall of any… wait… was this the _first_ time Sherlock actually said…

“God Sherlock ! During the past 13 (t-h-e-e-r-t-e-e-n) years you didn’t manage even to tell _that_ ONCE to Daddy ???”

He shrugged : “Considered it to be elementary, Watson.”

Daddy smiled, letting my leg go.

Damn grownups.

And suddenly I threw up.

***

**Sunday 17/02/2030**

I feel like shit. I’m tired.

At least, I’m too tired to think. That’s good. Really good.

So I just lay there, half sleeping, cuddling Mrs HonneyBee.

At some point, in the afternoon, Harry went inside my room. She had a shy smile and waved from the door frame. I waved back. I was surprised, she had cut her hair ! I raised my hands and told her. It suited her well. Really well. Made her look more… elegant, more posh, more like I was imagining a fancy New-Yorker lesbian somehow ? She smiled and blushed a bit. Harry really is not used to compliments.

“So you’re sick ?”

“Yeah.”

“Sherlock had to go out, an emergency call from someone called S-a-l-l-y D-o-n-o-v-a-n. Your Dad went with him. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh… Okay.”

“So… if you need something… text me. I will be downstears. Is it all right ? Do you need something ? Are you thirsty ? Hungry ?”

“What are you doing downstairs ?”

She shrugged : "I will see if I’m able to find a nice book. I can’t find the subtitles on your television.”

“Oh shit…”

“I’m used to it, don’t worry. No hearing people use subtitles…”

Oh god I felt so sorry for her, stucked here, because of me… with Daddy’s bad Scandinavian thriller books and Sherlock’s dull classical literature and forsenic science books (well beside that ONE Jane Austen book - Sense and Sensitivity- I know he hides behind some fat organic chemistry book).

“You want to take one of my books ? I have some funny ones. You can also sit here, if you want ?”

“Oh really ? Oh that’s nice ! That’s great, so you will just have to wave to call me. Your BSL is great, I’m so happy we still are able to have a little conversation !”

I smiled. Of course I would never let my little knoweledge of BSL fade away… Harry was soooo worth it ! I watched her look through my bookshelves and saw her pick up “Gender Troubles” by Judith Butler. She turned to me :

“You read this kind of stuff ?”

“Mrs H. lent it to me, I haven’t started yet.”

She smiled : “She lent it to me too, long ago... That book helped me a lot to accept who I was. As a woman, as a Lesbian and as a Deaf person. Humans are really all about identity… It’s important to know who we are so we can be honest to ourselves and then… to the others. It’s all about honesty, in the end. I’m happy to find this book here, Mrs H. is really a great person. I hope you will enjoy it.”

She didn’t expect me to answer -sad habit of her- and turned back to my books. When she found  “Leading Ladies” by Marlee Matlin, she was so happy… She turned towards me : “You still have it ?”

“Well… you gave it to me !”

She smiled.

She sat down on my chair, by the window, said again that I should wave or throw smething at her if I wanted her attention, and started to read.

I felt at peace somehow. We don’t see each other often. We don’t know each other very well. But I think we like each other. Anyway. I felt my eyes close again. I was so tired.

Well, I must have fallen asleep. Now she’s gone and night has fallen. But I feel better. Great. I need to go to school tomorrow. I need to see Yifan and Kiara.

I can see that Harry has left a note on my desk. I will read it tomorrow.

***

**Monday 18/02/20130**

Didn't go to school. Daddy wouldn't let me.

Anyway, Yifan and Kiara were here. They spent all the afternoon here.

And now... we have an actual _action plan_.

I'm too tired to write more. I'm not quite well yet, Daddy was right. Appears, _sometimes_ , he is.

*exaspered sigh"

Got another anonymous sweet text message. Same number. Mmmh...


	4. Fourth week : 19/02/2030-25/02/2030

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... meeting Sally Donovan and Greg Lestrade.  
> Maybe Janine Hawkins might have something to say ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi !  
> ...  
> sorry  
> ...  
> it has been a while. ^^'  
> I was busy with the work I have to do for a living... (lol, the one that allows you to pay a rent and stuff) and had no time left to hand Rosie my pen.
> 
> I will try to catch up.  
> Anyway, as I already know the end... the story will eventually come to an end. Just maybe a bit later than expected.
> 
> Hope you will enjoy this new chapter it as much as Rosie enjoyed writing it. :)

**Tuesday - 19/02/2030**

Great.

ACTION PLAN.

Accordingly (as would say Ms Hale, our English teacher), we… well, wait, how do you actually use that word within a sentence ?

…

Never mind.

As I was writing, our AMAZING ACTION PLAN unfolds (ha ha, I know how to handle SOME smart words, it’s all about being _almost_ grown up !!!) as follows :

Yifan is doing some research on Irene Adler and on the Aquarium shooting.

Kiara is doing some research about Janine Hawkins, and polyamory, and suffragettes and LGBT people history through the 20th Century because it is clear to none of us how come Daddy was hiding his sexuality.

I will have to go on asking random things to Molly, Irene Adler, my Dads.

All three of us will have to go and ask Mrs H. and Greg Lestrade about some other stuff.

Yes, it doesn’t sound incredibly new and innovative but IT IS. Why would it be ? I’m glad you asked ! Because it is _organized_. Yes, yesterday, we spent all the afternoon making hundreds of lists of all the stuff we actually knew and I spent the whole morning (obviously not attending class as I suddenly felt sooooooooooooo sick again, it wouldn’t have been wise to send me to school in such a poor state of constant agony and pitiless headache and… well, as Sherlock says : only lies have details. OF COURSE Sherlock noticed I was ~~lying~~ acting but he didn’t really understand WHY. And that’s the whole point. He thinks it is somehow linked to the Heather-flower but it’s not. _Really_ not. Isn’t it ?)

However.

The List.

It was Yifan’s idea. She actually had already started the listing.  But it was unreadable… yeah, I don’t know… Yifan should become a doctor or an astronaut or a poet or… her handwriting is _hardly_ Human. Only well trained teachers, archaeologists and pharmacists can decipher it. So Kiara (with the prettiest ever handwriting besides Josh’s) took the writing over. I couldn’t do it : I had to _think_ and to _recall_ and I was grateful for my Diary to actually exist. Love you Diary !

After several hours, we achieved this, and I just spent the whole morning in writing it carefully and properly down on a nice paper sheet (I am soooo proud !). Yifan and Kiara were shortly here after school to hand me some homework over, and to take a look to my summary. Of course, they did comment it while I was concentrating over some silly ***math***. Would actually have surprised me if not.

John Watson

\- loves Sherlock

\- is happy that Sherlock will adopt me

\- was an Army Captain and spent several years in Afghanistan _(soooo hot)_

\- was in a bad shape when he went back to London _(eating disorder ?)_ **(suicidal ?)**

\- used to define himself as straight (?!) _(your Dad should do some “one-man show”)_

\- shot a cabbie to protect Sherlock (?)

\- met my Mum while Sherlock was dead **(seems pretty strange, no ?)** _(Yifan,_ _please TRY to write in a way that actually allows us to read you !!!)_

\- married her (loved her ?) **(yes, at least in the beginning… I guess)**

\- pushed Sherlock away **(your Mum made him ?)**

\- was threatened by Augustus Magnusson and the Serbian mafia (?)

\- somehow there is a link between Mum’s death and Sherlock that made him lose it all

\- rejected Sherlock (hoooooow ???)

\- handed me over to Molly because he was too damaged **(alcoholic)**

\- did something awful to Sherlock, including beating the shit out of him (…?)

\- somehow managed to come back to 221B, to apologize and to… accept himself

\- somehow became Sherlock’s partner and ended up marrying him _(who proposed ?)_

\- is still not quite done with Sherlock’s “death”

\- doesn’t like Irene Adler

\- links Sherlock’s roof jump to the Aquarium _(your Mum died at the Aquarium…)_

-  _can go to the Aquarium but can’t go to Bart’s where Sherlock jumped_

-  _he loves you_

Sherlock Holmes

\- loves Daddy

\- wants to adopt me but needs time

\- was very lonely before meeting Daddy

\- has been crying A LOT last few weeks

\- used to be a drug addict but had stopped

\- has been doing drugs again (call me stupid… eyes-roll) and SMOKES !

\- has relation issues with Sally Donovan

\- is a friend of Irene Adler

\- was considered to be in a relationship with Daddy but seemingly, wasn’t _(???)_

\- jumped from a roof to fake is own suicide because Jim Moriarty made him to (how ?)

\- spent two years in Serbia **(doing what ?)** _(dismantling Moriarty’s net)_

\- had some relation issues with my Mum _(God Rosie, she married the man he loved…)_ **(and he was forced to be his best-man)** _(sexiest bestman ever)_ (None of my Dads are available !!!)

\- had an affair with Janine Hawkins _(even proposed ?)_

\- was shot (by who ? why ? how ?)

\- was almost killed (according to Molly) **(linked to the shot above ?)**

\- shot Augustus Magnuson out of love for Dad (how does that make any sense ?)

\- was somehow involved in the shooting at the Aquarium

\- went insane with pain because Daddy rejected him (I still don’t get it) _(me neither)_

\- is deadly afraid of being left by Daddy (doesn’t make the slightest sense to me)

- _USED TO BE UTMOST SEXY_ **( <\-- ** **this is from KIARA !!!!)** _(actually STILL IS !)_

- _he loves you_

Irene Adler

\- was a dominatrix (what’s that ?) **(I will find out, don’t worry)** _(maybe we should)_

\- is a friend of Sherlock

\- knows Jim Moriarty **(knows all of the “M”)**

\- doesn’t like Jim Moriarty **(seems a bit afraid if you ask me)**

\- knows Mycroft _(I want to meet him… “Ice Queen” ?)_

\- knows my Mum and doesn’t want to talk about her

\- knows Molly

\- knows Greg Lestrade

\- helped my Dads to find each other

\- left London

\- is married to Kate

\- links the fact that my Mum was an assassin to the fact that she married my Dad

-  **knows a LOT of your Dads’ story**

-  _knows a LOT of fascinating shit about life_

Janine Hawkins

\- lives in a cottage in Sussex

\- was in a relationship with Sherlock _(this should be forbidden by law)_ **(KIARA !!)**

\- worked for Augustus Magnusson

\- was my Mum’s bride’s maid **(isn’t that strange ?)**

Mary Watson

\- her name was Morstan

\- she was an assassin working for the Government

\- Daddy didn’t know when he married her, he thought she was a nurse **(maybe she was)**

\- she didn’t like Sherlock _(her husband loved him !!!)_

\- she was involved with Sherlock’s enemies (Jim Moriarty ?) **(Augustus Magnusson ?)**

\- she put Sherlock in great danger

\- got shot in the Aquarium **(by who ? why ?)** _(do we really wanna know ?)_ (…)

Jim Moriarty

\- was an insane bloke who liked to play with Sherlock because he was bored _(or in love : he wanted to “burn the heart out of Sherlock”)_ **(well… if that’s so…)** _(I know, I’m a genius)_

\- was super powerful

\- died at least two times (once in a waterfall in Switzerland)

\- made Sherlock jump from a roof

\- was put on trial but released

\- was either killed by Mycroft (according to Sherlock) or somehow by my two Dads (according to Irene Adler) **(THIS dude is THE KEY !!!)** _(God, I bet it’s all about a heavy love drama…)_

\- killed my Mum ?

-  _was he in a relation with Sherlock ? This sounds so plausible…_ **(god, an angry mad lover…)**

Augustus Magnusson

\- was super powerful because he directed the press **(or maybe he directed the press because he was powerful ?)**

\- was shot by Sherlock in his villa

\- threatened Mary and Daddy

Fourth M

\- is linked to Morstan, Moriarty and Magnusson

\- Greg Lestrade knows about him _(why “him” ?)_ **(well… good point)**

\- Daddy knows about him _/her_

\- Irene Adler knows about him _/her_

\- Is dead (according to Irene Adler) is of no danger any more (according to Greg Lestrade)

Molly Hooper

\- raised me when I was very little because Daddy couldn’t

\- is “always the one to be there for Sherlock”

\- used to be in love with Sherlock _(toootally makes sense)_

\- knew Sherlock was not dead (HOW ? WHY ?) **(why didn’t she tell your Dad ?)**

\- knows my Mum and knows what this “great danger” is, she put Sherlock into

\- knows Moriarty ? (and the other “M” ?)

-  **totally knows what happened when you were little**

- _since when is she with Stella ?_

- _she loves you_

Mrs H.

\- knows a lot of shit about feminism

\- patched my Dads together when I was little _(so, she knows ?) **(of course she knows)**_

\- shouted at Daddy while he was letting Sherlock down

\- seems to have known Sherlock for a very long time

Greg Lestrade

\- knows about the four “M”

\- knows Sherlock and Sally Donovan have some relation issues **(maybe it could be great to ask her something, one day ? Does she know Stella ?)**

\- is worried about Sherlock’s drug use

\- is super “dad-alike” to Daddy

\- knows what happened between Sherlock and Dad when I was little

Harry Watson

\- has to know something, she always knows something

So… this is kind of a list and I guess by the time we have answered all the questions, we will have come a whole batch of steps forward. Well I will have to go to school tomorrow.

***

**Wednesday - 20/02/2030**

God, I’m already overwhelmed with this fucking action plan of a nightmare. I don’t know how to handle this…

This is toooooooo complicated, I’m just a tiny teenager, I shouldn’t have to worry about the previous psycho lover of my soon-to-be-official Dad. I want to be a little bee. Just humming around while looking for flowers with NO boring THINKING all the time.

And also : I spent the most of my day hiding in the classrooms or hiding inside the toilets… well… Heather and Josh are actually _freely walking around_ in that fucking school of mine… Point is… I also had to avoid Kiara and Yifan as… well as Yifan is always around Henry who turned out to be a friend of Josh and Kiara somehow (whyyyyyy ?) spent the whole day around Heather. This is no coincidence. I mean, we are talking about Kiara, here. Whatever.

I went straight home, angry and sad and… found Sherlock sitting on the couch, deeply immersed in his mind palace. God, I want one of those too… Why I am stucked with Daddy’s silly mind bungalow.

*eyes-roll*

I went to my room and sat at my desk. And here I am. Angry and sad.

Some anonymous number –always the same- sent me a text :

16:48 – Rosie ? What’s the matter ? Why did you hide all day ? Are you all right?

Define “all right”, lol.

***

**Thursday - 21/02/2030 (part 1)**

Actually, yesterday evening I got several more texts.

From Yifan : “Sorry Rosie, I didn’t know Josh and Henry were buddies… but this might actually be good for you, no ? And btw… you could actually answer at least ONE of his texts…”

From Kiara : “Rosie… I’m sorry. I wanted to… somehow make things easy but I guess I was wrong. Please don’t avoid me like this tomorrow… and maybe we could organize something funny on Saturday or Sunday with EVERYONE.”

Another from Kiara : “Or just us.”

And from Kiara : “ANSWEEER PLEEEASE !”

Yifan : “Rosie, stop this silly game, and answer to Kiara’s calls. Anyway, I started to do some research and found interesting stuff about what a “dominatrix” is.”

Kiara : “Rosiiiiiiiiiiiiiie ! I’m sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry, please, answer !”

Yifan : “Rosie, can I tell Josh you’re still alive ?”

And suddenly it knocked at my door. It was Sherlock.

“Watson, I guess it’s diner time. As your Dad seems to be wandering around with Mike and Lestrade, we’re left on our own. Shall I order something ?”

I wasn’t hungry.

As I didn’t answer, he came to my desk an put a hand on my chair back. His eyes were flickering all around.

“Watson, we might watch a movie. Do you need help with your homework ? This flower is pretty nice.”

“Yeah.”

*biiiiig sigh*

How _more_ subtle can an allusion get ?

“Yeah… what ?”

“The flower is nice and… I want to watch a movie, let’s have a look at Daddy’s old DVDs.”

“Er… well, as it suits you. Nevertheless, I suggest, as your Dad is not home, to avoid anything closer or further related to cheap horror and to James Bond.”

I didn’t answer and just went down, to the old bookshelf where Daddy’s proud and from-another-age DVD collection is gently waiting to disappear under the dust. I mean… we don’t even own a DVD player, those little funny, colourful boxes are just there on display. In the end, we will have to watch the movie on Netflix anyway. But still, that way I have some kind of old movie’s catalogue at hand. Some old movies are actually pretty cool ! Like… I really loved all those old StarWars (all nine of them) and all those silly Marvel movies or some even older, like “Singing in the rain” or stuff nobody is aware of, anymore. However. Tonight I decided I wanted to watch a seemingly sweet movie called “Love Actually”. So Sherlock ordered some Thai food while I was looking the movie up on Netflix. Found it. We had a funny time. Well… I had a funny time. My favourite story was the one of the Prime Minister and his assistant or of Jack and Judy both being so ridiculously shy while acting all naked. It was actually very funny to see a super young Keira Knightley and a Chiwetel Ejiofor with hair !!! God and I didn’t even recognize Liam Neeson ! However. Sherlock sat quietly next to me on the sofa and seemed to wait for me to provide him with some explanation about how and why I was laughing. But I was in no mood for such a thing. Am I angry ? You bet I am ! So I think he was mostly bored but politely waited for the movie to end an for me to go up to bed. I politely wished him a “good night, Sherlock”.

I heard the sad Sherlock violin’s song raise while I closed the door of my room.

My heart, regarding this matter, is currently of stone. There is NO WAY a silly violin song can melt it.

***

**Thursday - 21/02/2030 (part 2)**

I actually woke up, very sudden, in the middle of the night : Harry’s note !!!

I jumped out of bed and looked on my desk. There it was, carefully folded. I took it and went to back to bed and lit the light on, Mrs Bumblebee sitting on my lap.

_“Dear Rosie,_

_I took your book home, I hadn’t finished it yet. I will hand it back as soon as I can._

_Well, to the point._

_(This hearing people way to tiptoe lines and lines around the actual point doesn’t make any sense to me, so forgive me if you perceive me as rude… It’s just the Deaf people’s way : straight to the point.) (Don’t ask your Dad about it, I guess he is still not used to it…)_

_Communication between your Daddy and I was never brilliant. As he still struggles with BSL, it is still difficult to communicate truly without falling back to writing. It has been that way since we were little. I guess it will never change. That means that we mostly only talk through text messages and hardly ever meet. When we meet, we only “talk” about the basic stuff. I hardly know what’s going on in his life and he doesn’t know much about mine. But there is ONE thing he is really talkative about : you. He never seems to be able to shut up (or stop writing) about you. But that’s all. And that has always been like this._

_It started 13 years ago : just after your mother’s death. It was a time during which your Dad was so lost that he actually started to talk to me. I mean… after years and years of mutual avoidance, he wrote to me and asked me (me !!!) for advice. Of course (of course…), it was about drinking but this was only an excuse to reach out. Your Dad was so isolated, so left alone : I was the only one he could think of when it came to ask for help. I tried to help him the best I could. I think we managed pretty well, regarding the circumstances._

_At that time, I talked a lot to Molly, Mrs Hudson and also to… a certain friend of Sherlock whom you seem to know about. I actually met this friend through Molly : she was trying to get some information to help Sherlock. Funny story. Now. Looking back._

_However. John told me that you were starting to ask questions about that time and about what happened._

_I noticed the books of Judith Butler and Simone de Beauvoir on your desk and I genuinely asked Mrs Hudson how come she thought this was an appropriate reading for a 13 years old girl. She told me that you came down to her asking about those books. Don’t understand me wrong : those books are properly amazing and they should be read by as many people as possible but, nevertheless, they might be a bit tough for a 13 years old. Maybe I’m wrong. However, I have the very strong feeling that the very person who suggested you to read those books might be someone who, maybe, slightly overestimated your ability to really understand them. A person not quite used to deal with ~~children~~ teenagers (sorry). A person who couldn’t hand you the books over by herself, a person who knew Mrs Hudson had them. Well… as I might have been wrong, I asked her and she confirmed : you are in touch with Irene Adler._

_I also asked Molly and she told me you were, indeed, asking question which are difficult to answer._

_Everyone knew this time would come. Nobody knew when. I guess everyone hoped this would somehow remain in the shadow._

_Well… it is not._

_Rosie, you seem to be a very smart girl who likes asking questions and finding answers. No wonder, regarding your parents._

_But please, take care of yourself while diving into that dark past._

_Your dads, both of them, are great men. Circumstances surrounding your birth were very specific ones. Keep that in mind while investigating. I’m very confident: you will find the truth, eventually. But be aware that every truth is not easy to be dealt with._

_Also keep in mind that… your Mum was a bad person._

_I know, your dads, both of them, have always spoken in a respectful way about her but… really, this is bullshit. Your Mum was an abusive perp regardless of the angle you use to look at her. Your dad’s were two little pieces on her chessboard. From what I understood so far, so were you._

_Never forget this._

_Also never forget that biology is one thing, parents and family are another thing. We all were born for different (good or bad) reasons completely independent from our will. The important thing is not why or how we were born but what we have done/become once we have been born and with what we have been given. Our birth circumstances doesn’t define us. And you are, like your dads, a great person._

_I guess, as you are a hearing girl, this important message would be more powerful with some music… please chose a music you really like to wrap around those words._

_And think about this while investigating._

_And also keep in mind that Irene Adler is not Molly. She used to be a dangerous woman. I would seriously be surprised if she had suddenly become a nice little sheep. But she also is a trustful ally as long as you don’t try to cheat on her. Be warned._

_Be sweetly hugged my dearest little niece._

_Good luck !_

_Harry.”_

God. Why was I mad at Kiara and Yifan again ???

***

**Thursday - 21/02/2030 (part 3)**

I’m getting super good at ignoring my parents during morning routine. It’s all about boiling from the inside or experiencing the persistent feeling of having been rolled over by a caravan of about one thousand trucks and actually PLAYING IT COOL. YES I am mad at them. Don’t really know why, it’s all far too confused. I just don’t want to talk to them right now. And they seem so uneasy… GUSH LET THEM BATH IN THEIR SMELLY JUICE OF GUILT AND IGNORANCE.

So this morning, like yesterday and the morning before, when Daddy opened my curtains and yelled at me from downstairs, I just did everything silently without saying anything, simply greeting them politely and that’s it. If they think I don’t see their silly “worried” gaze exchanges, they are SO WRONG.

However, I was super early at school today and as Yifan and Kiara are always early, I had actually time to show them Harry’s letter.

Kiara,who was sooooo happy to see that I wasn’t mad at her anymore, just went very silent when I handed her the letter. And she read it three times before she said anything.

Yifan just said that we should add this to the list.

Both of them had found stuff regarding their first mission. We had to wait for lunch break before being able to discuss it.

Yifan had looked up what a dominatrix was and even managed to find a super old Twitter account which seemed to have belonged to Irene Adler “the whipping hand” and… well… there was some interesting content on it. She also had found a super old website with some pictures on display. Gosh, Irene Adler was a handsome woman. A bit creepy but… yeah, handsome. And she really seemed to be dead. _Officially_ at least. But then… well… _officially_ , Sherlock is not my Dad so… I start to get the very strong feeling that there is a HUGE gap between what _officially_ is and what _actually_ is. And I said so in a very sarcastic tone. Kiara kindly reminded me that sometimes, the official version meets the actual version, for example… John Watson is both, my official and my actual Dad. She also added that England is actually and officially an Island. Yifan was not that sure about it. We had a little debate before focusing again on Harry’s letter.

Kiara eventually said : Well… we suspected she knows something… we were right.

So Irene Adler used to be a scandalous dominatrix. This suited what Harry had written me. And even what Irene Adler had actually told me. However, the question now was : WHY WAS SHE OFFICIALLY DEAD ???

Yifan was more concerned about the connections. She told us we should be very careful what we asked whom… as everyone seemed to communicate with everyone… that we should make sure to ask as little as possible to everyone so that they couldn’t guess what we actually knew and what we still needed to discover.

Kiara wondered : "Why don’t they want you to know ? Why does nobody want to just tell you the truth and this would be done..."

Yifan answered quietly : "I think they all don’t really know how to handle all this and…"

"… and I think none of them really knows what happened in its whole. Not even my Dads."

Kiara made big eyes and went silent. Yifan slowly nodded. I explained the discussion from which I got that feeling. They were puzzled.

After a few minutes of silence, Kiara told me that her “XXe Century LGBT issues” research was super interesting while super disappointing and that she had to read a bit more to be able to wrap it all together to give us a somewhat accurate depiction of the situation. She said she started to get an idea of whay and how my Dad might have wanted to hide is bisexuality.

At that point Yifan handed me a paper with Janine Hawkin’s address in Sussex, an e-mail address and a phone number. She is a beekeeper and sells honey !!!

How FUNNY is that ???

N.O.T. A.T. A.L.L.

Kiara suggested I should pretend like doing some work for school about honey and beekeeping and call her. And… well… and see.

And then, lunch break was over.

We spent the whole afternoon learning about silly meiosis. Could actually have been worse…

On my way home, I picked a big salad and five Jerusalem artichokes. I put them on the kitchen table and went straight to my room. I had to think. And to think hard.

And I had gotten a new sms from Josh.

I have to answer it.

Damn it.

***

**Friday - 22/02/2030 (part 1)**

Yesterday evening, I sent an e-mail to Janine Hawkins. This I am allowed to, nobody looks at my e-mailbox. It’s like knocking at one's room door. It’s privacy.

_"2030-02-21 – 18:37 -_ _from Rosie W. (rositabanana.beepowa@gmail.com) -_ _to[hawkinsbeefarm@gmail.com](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Ahawkinsbeefarm%40gmail.com&t=ZDIzZWQ1YzhkODdiMzA5NTllYjkxZTg5NjZkZTIyYTYyOTE1N2IzNix2ZDR4aXBZVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AKBcsDnUEiwPHkWKEsBL8MQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Forenbeval.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158359564458%2Frosie-watsons-diary-fri22022030-part-1&m=1)_

_Dear Mrs Hawkins,_

_My name is Rosie, and I currently have to write an essay about bees and honey for a school assignment. I found your farm on the internet and was wondering if you could answer some of my questions regarding your activity._

_Respectfully,_

_Rosie W.”_

During lunch break, while I am writing, I still don’t have received any answer. By the way, it is simply SUPER LUCKY that my e-mail address is a silly one that doesn’t give anything away about who I actually am. Imagine if it would have been something like [rosie.watson-holmes@gmail.com](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Arosie.watson-holmes%40gmail.com&t=NzJiZjYxM2FjMWViZWIzMjgzMDJhOTIzYzQyMmE1YjE3NzFhYjI1Myx2ZDR4aXBZVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AKBcsDnUEiwPHkWKEsBL8MQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Forenbeval.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158359564458%2Frosie-watsons-diary-fri22022030-part-1&m=1)… Thank god it was Molly and not Sherlock who made me this very address… :)

I wanted to skip the usual “Saturday lunch” with Molly but Kiara told me not to: that would be suspicious. She said that regarding the situation and regarding the fact that apparently nobody really wanted to me to know what exactly had happened, I had to play it really smart and to act the most “normal way” with everyone so that they would not suspect that we were getting more and more deeper into the matter.

Yifan suggested to, somehow, manage to kind of trap everyone… like Irene Adler and Harry were reliable to get to with questions because they already had compromised themselves and were somehow trapped.

Never in my life would I have thought about Yifan putting such a devilish sneaky smile on display. Kiara was horrified, I was delighted : brilliant !

And then I got that idea : let’s ask if Stella could maybe show me around in Scotland Yard ! Maybe… Maybe we could like bump into Sally Donovan ! Maybe she would be happy to bitch over Sherlock and Daddy ? Kiara and Yifan wanted to be shown Scotland Yard too. I mean please… SCOTLAND YARD. Well… the _official_ version of it.

At some point, Yifan reminded me that I could also maybe give a shit about my current present and potential future and not spending ALL my time about focusing on my parents’ past. Subtext : Heather and Josh.

“You could at least answer his text messages, Rosie…”

Yeah, I guess I could. If I wasn’t so bloody afraid.

Kiara offered to come home with me tonight, in order to be able to spend a relaxed evening with my Dads. Yifan is never allowed to go out after school without having talked about it at least three days in advance with her Ma and grand-Ma. Well… maybe having a free internet access and a Twitter account is not ALL of it. However, this was nothing new and we would do as usual : Kiara and I at my place (soooo much quieter than Kiara’s OVERCROWDED place where her ANNOYING big brother or small brother or small sister or Mum would like peek inside her room every five minutes to see what we were doing and if we needed something and… I mean, this is great and stuff if you need some biiiig company for playing a board game or so… but we had some serious investigation to do…)

Actually, it turned out that Yifan was introducing Henry to her Mum and Grand-Ma tonight. WUUUT ?! She went sooooo red, it was soooo sweet. Though… I didn’t allow myself to make fun of her… as I knew Kiara would just JUMP on the opportunity to outfun me back, regarding my reaction to the Heather-flower and the Josh-note.

They were right, I have to do something about them.

GOD. WHY IS EVERYTHING HAPPENING LIKE… NOW ?

On our way home, I texted Molly :

17:27 - Hi ! do you think Stella might actually show us around in Scotland Yard tomorrow ?

17:32 – Hi Rosie love ! Well… this comes maybe a bit short in delay but I will ask her. I will let u know. How many of u ? The three usual ?

17:33 – Yep. Who else ?

17:35 – Just asking, honey. Just asking.

Kiara popped by at Mrs H.’s to see if she had her book on Angela Davis’ work and while I was boiling water in the kitchen (Sherlock was not home) I got an answer from Janine :

_“2030-02-22 – 17:59 - f_ _rom J.Hawnins Beefarm ([hawkinsbeefarm@gmail.com](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Ahawkinsbeefarm%40gmail.com&t=ZDIzZWQ1YzhkODdiMzA5NTllYjkxZTg5NjZkZTIyYTYyOTE1N2IzNix2ZDR4aXBZVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AKBcsDnUEiwPHkWKEsBL8MQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Forenbeval.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158359564458%2Frosie-watsons-diary-fri22022030-part-1&m=1)) - _   _to Rosie W. (rositabanana.beepowa@gmail.com)_

_Dear Rosie,_

_What a delightful idea to write an essay about bees and honey !_

_I would be more than happy to help you out._

_I don’t know where you live but if you live too far away from my farm to come over, we could have a little chat over skype one evening after school. It would be great if you could send me your questions in advance so I could prepare the answers._

_Thank you for your interest._

_Bees are precious. They should be national treasury._

_Keep in touch,_

_Janine.”_

_***_

**Friday - 22/02/2030 (part 2)**

Ooooookay. Let’s concentrate. This is DEADLY serious matter.

Kiara, skype-Yifan (for 30 minutes, waiting for Henry to get to her place) and I were thinking very hard about WHAT and HOW to ask Janine.

As I said… DEADLY serious.

So far we have come up with four questions :

\- Since when are you a beekeeper ?

\- Why have you decided to become a beekeeper ?

\- What do you need to become a beekeeper ?

\- Could you describe a typical day of yours ? (well, it has to look like an essay)

“Well, maybe we could tell this a start ?“

Kiara looked unconvinced. And anyway, Henry did just arrive so Yifan had to leave. So it was just the both of us left.

“What about asking Harry or Irene Adler ?“

“Well Yifan told us we should be careful about what we ask from whom…“

“Ah yes, that’s right.“

“However, we might ask them and see what we get for an answer and… that may help us to find new questions…“

“Ooooooookay. Let’s do it.“

I took my phone and sent a text message :

18:35 – Hello !

**18:37 – Oh, Junior. Again.**

18:38 – Who is Janine Hawkins ? How come Sherlock proposed to her ?

**18:39 – Christ. Not that crap again…**

18:40 – So you know her ?

**18:40 - Should I ?**

18:41 - Whatever. So you know Harry ?

**18:41 – Here we are… never trust the Deaf woman…**

18:41 – Wow ! That’s not nice to say !

(Kiara wrote this before I could actually take my phone back…)

**18:42 –  Junior, I am not nice. Thought you would have noticed by now.**

18:43 – Anyway, how did you meet her ?

(Yes I know, and Kiara knows too, they met through Molly, but let's play dumb here... see if both versions converge... I noticed the same story has often several versions depending on who is telling it... LMAO)

**18:44 – Who ?**

18:44 - HARRY !

**18:44 - Relax, Junior, no need for shouting, I’m not the Deaf one… Through the Hooper girl, who else ? Could have deduced this by yourself, really.**

18:44 – Er… what ?! O_o !

(aren't we good at playing the surprised teenies ?)

**18:46 – Well, as it appears, and as you already know, aroud your birth both of your Dads had a rough time.** **It seems that I was on team Sherlock while Harry happened to be on team John. It seems that we both got somehow the same idea around the same time and both considered the Hooper girl to be „neutral ground“. And she just… connected the wires and it worked.**

18:49 – How exactly ?

**18:51 – Actually, it was nice that the Landlagy got involved too at some point… sometimes it seems to be quite useful to have an actual voice being able to shout some sense into someone, especially if that very someone is not interested in listening.**

18:52- What are you talking about ?

**18:53 – Well, I also think you were a pretty strong argument… and the Hooper girl, quite surprisingly, used that argument very well. I guess her Officer girlfriend helped a bit.**

18:55 – What…

**18:56 – What I am trying to tell you ist hat your two stupid Dads are lucky to be surrounded by such an amazing bunch of good willing and patient women. That’s when you feel who knows how to lead a battle and who doesn’t.**

Kiara was as perplex as I was.

18:56 - …

**19:00 – Some people are born in this world in a position from which they have to fight to achieve something. ANYTHING. No choice : fight or die. The ones who survive and achieve something are fighters. They are born fighters. On the other hand, some people are born into a position in which they don’t have to fight (I mean FIGHT) for anything. Those are broken by the very first obstacle. With all respect I have for both of your Dads… they were no fighters. Never had to fight (I mean FIGHT) to achieve something. So… their first real fight was about each other. Both of them, in their late thirties, suddenly discovered that as soon one does not belong to the established norm anymore, one has to fight REALLY hard to actually get the chance to reach happiness. Well… they obviously were both overwhelmed. So… we stepped in.**

19:08 – Because you knew how to fight ?

**19:10 – Junior… most women are born fighters.**

Kiara looked at that text with amazement. She very quickly wrote several words down on a paper. I was far more sceptical.

19:11 – Er… okay…? I don’t know… isn’t this a bit… extreme ?

**19:12 – Have you read those books you got from the Landlady ?**

19:14 – Harry actually thinks I might be too young fort hem.

**19:15 – Well… try to read them, otherwise it seems pretty hard to tell. At your age… I was reading Tobi Vail‘s **and Kathleen Hanna’s** Jigsaw zine and other stuff… and was completely able to understand all of it. So, if I was able to understand Bikini Kill’s and Bratmobile’s shouting, you should be able to understand Judith Butler’s writing.**

**19:16 – Actually, Kate’s opinion on the matter is that I was more 15 than 13 at that time… I don’t know anymore. Maybe.**

This didn’t make the slightest sense to me, as usual. A conversation with Irene Adler was always soooo exhausting… Always talking about some sociologistic shit I never really cared about. But Kiara seemed.

19:17 – Whatever.

19:17 - You told me Sherlock was a gay man… how come he proposed to Janine ?

**19:18 – Wrong person, Junior. Those were times where your Sherlock Dad and I weren’t very close.**

19:18 – But you knew/know her ?

**19:20 – She was in the newspapers, all over the place. Had a bit of a hat fetish if you ask me.**

19:21 – That’s soooooo easy !!!!!!!!!!! Cheater !!!!

Of course, there was no response after that. But Kiara took good notice of "Tobi Vail", “Kathleen Hanna” and "Bikini Kill". She promised she would look those up.

We were talking about writing to Harry when suddenly someone knocked at my door : Sherlock.

Of course he had noticed that Kiara was here and wasn’t surprised to find her in my room. Somehow, he looked shy.      

“Evening Watson, evening Kiara. John is on his way, he had an emergency to take care of that’s why he is coming home late. I put some rice in boiling water and bought some of those tofu sausages you seem to particularly enjoy… they are curently frying in a pan. I guess diner will be ready in about ten minutes. Would you mind seting the table while I just get down to buy some cake for dessert ?”

***

**Friday - 22/02/2030 (part 3)**

Kiara and I actually set the table, fried the sausages and made even a tomato salsa for the rice by the time my daddies, both, came through the entrance door.

Daddy looked tired but happy.

“Evening Ladies, so you were tricked into preparing diner as I can see ?”

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible while dropping a cupcakes box on the kitchen table, beneath the twenty (or more) Petri dishes which were laying there, seemingly in a random fashion but I know better that to suppose that anything on this table lies randomly around.

“Has everyone washed one’s hands ?”

*eyes roll*

While we were all seated and starting to eat, Daddy suddenly asked, out of nowhere : “So, you Ladies wanna go and have a guided tour of Scotland Yard, tomorrow ?”

“How do you know ?!”

“Well, Molly asked us if we agreed. I’m sorry to inform you that you are still a minor, that we are still your dads and that sometimes we’re allowed to give our opinions about your doings.”

He smiled. I pouted.

“Well, technically, you’re the only one whose opinions are taken into consideration, as you’re my only OFFICIAL dad.”

\- Silence -

Sherlock had frozen. Kiara looked at me with an expression I could decipher as “WHATTHEHELLAREYOUDOING???”

Daddy put his fork and knife down.

“Rosie, stop this passive-aggressive behavior of yours. Put it to an end and behave like an adult when you address adult matters.”

“Oh well because YOU are behaving sooooo adult alike right now…”

“Rosie, I don’t know what you’re talking about !”

“I’m talking about all that fucking shit oozing from every molecule of this flat and that Sherlock and you keep ignoring ! All that creepy stuff about my Mum and so far and so forth !”

“Rosie, maybe we are avoiding to talk about this because there is nothing to say about this. We already talked about this.”

“NO ! We didn’t !!!”

“Good, that’s your opinion. However, neither Sherlock nor I have more to say about that stuff. And regarding your adoption… you know that Sherlock will file the documents, eventually.”

“I need to come down from my drug use, Watson. No junkie will ever be granted the privilege to be recognized as an official parent to any child.”

\- Silence –

Dad tried to catch Sherlock’s gaze, but he was staring at his plate. So Dad cleaned his throat and, starting to eat, gently said that Stella was off duty tomorrow and would be happy to show us around in Scotland Yard.

Kiara and I had a super excited gaze exchange and smiled sooo brightly, even Sherlock’s face turned a bit cheerful.

“Scotland Yard is most certainly the dullest place on Earth…” he sighed.

Daddy rose an eyebrow : “Oh really ? I actually remember of one time…”

Sherlock turned red and suddenly concentrated very hard on cutting his sausages into slices. Daddy had a surprisingly mischievous smile I am far more used to see drawn on Sherlock’s lips but… anyway. I was happy –YES, I WAS- to feel that moment of peace between us. Even if it was very fragile because my anger and my fears (and not only mine, I could tell) were still there, threatening to burst out at every moment.

It was decided that Kiara would sleep over and that Molly would get us, and Yifan, to drive us to Scotland Yard.

The cupcakes were a collection of various cats and this was sooooooooo sweeeeeet. I ate the pink one, of course I did. Sherlock told us about his latest case. He was talkative but in a slightly defensive way, seeming to wait for my next angry outburst. You will have to get used to this, _genius_.

In the end, before going to bed, Kiara and I agreed to send following e-mail to Janine :

_“2030-02-22 – 22:46 - to J.Hawnins Beefarm ([hawkinsbeefarm@gmail.com](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Ahawkinsbeefarm%40gmail.com&t=ZjM4NTVlODZkMDgyOGM4NzMyOWMyM2I0YWM4NmQ2Yjg5OTg2ZjlhNSxucDRzTVB1RA%3D%3D&b=t%3AKBcsDnUEiwPHkWKEsBL8MQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Forenbeval.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158389518708%2Frosie-watsons-diary-fri22022030-part-3&m=1)) - from Rosie W. ([rositabanana.beepowa@gmail.com](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Arositabanana.beepowa%40gmail.com&t=MTFlZjNkNWZlMjQ0OWExNDBlZWYwOTZjZTVjZjY4ZWEzZmNlMzQ5YixucDRzTVB1RA%3D%3D&b=t%3AKBcsDnUEiwPHkWKEsBL8MQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Forenbeval.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158389518708%2Frosie-watsons-diary-fri22022030-part-3&m=1))_

_Dear Janine,_

_Thank you for your kind answer !_

_Well I’m living in London, it would be too difficult for me to come over. Skype would be great ! Here are my questions :_

_\- Since when are you a beekeeper ?_

_\- Why have you decided to become a beekeeper ?_

_\- What do you need to become a beekeeper ?_

_\- Can everyone become a beekeeper ?_

_\- Could you describe a typical day of yours ?_

_\- How many bees do you have ?_

_\- How many honey types are they able to produce ?_

_\- How do you pet or groom your bees ? Do they all have a name ?_

_Thank you very much,_

_Rosie W.”_

_***_

**Saturday - 23/02/2030**

We didn’t sleep quite well last night, we were far too excited about the Scotland Yard visit. Molly got us at 9 o’clock precisely. Sherlock was still sleeping and Daddy on his way out to the practice. We stopped by at Yifan’s and eventually parked in some underground parking of a HUGE building. Stella was waiting there for us with little badges.

“Hi girls, let’s crack Scotland Yard's mysteries !”

She blinked at Molly, kissed her briefly and took her hand. I was kinda surprised : they never tend to be very demonstrative, even at home. This was special. Funny.

This was GREAT. Maybe not quite as GREAT as the musical but still. We saw many floors and many rooms, big ones, small ones, some looking like movie sets and some dull as hell. But it all smelt like *adventure* because it was _Scotland Yard_.

* FANGIRL POWA *

Eventually, Stella showed us _her_ office. She pointed to the two other desks, near the window, and told us that she was sharing her office with Sally Donovan and a young assistant. Behind a glass door, we saw Greg Lestrade, sitting behind a massive desk, giving a seemingly very important phone call.

We were allowed to sit at Stella’s desk. Molly had been getting some coffee and Stella was gently explain what all those files were on her desk. Several burglary cases, one child abuse and one murder. We went silent. She sighed.

“That’s why we work… to help those who were abused to gain some peace.”

“Is Sherlock working on one of your cases ?”

“No, not now. He is currently working on a big case with Sally.”

“Is sheworking today ?”

“Well… according to the half full mug on her desk, yes, she should be around.”

“So we will have to leave ?”

“Well, if you behave properly, no, why should you ?”

We all three exchanged a worried gaze.

Stella laughed : “You three, you’re funny… wait to meet her before making your opinion. You only know her through Rosie’s parents… that’s not fair to her !”

“Well, who knows whom only through Rosie’s parents ? And, woaow Stella, you’re hiring young now !”

And there she was : Sally Donovan. Last time I had seen her (like a hundred years ago) she was wearing her hair quite long. And now it was all gone… She was completely bald ! O_o ! She was walking in, holding a huge pile of copies on top of which a small cactus was trying to keep its balance. Stella took the plant with an interrogative look.

Sally Donovan laughed : “I found it in the dust bin next to the photocopier, couldn’t leave it there !”

Stella agreed : “Of course not.”

Molly came back with all our coffees. Sally Donovan had suddenly a knowing smile.

“Ah okay. One of you is _THAT_ Rosie… and _I_ am the one you only know through her parents…” she told quietly while looking up at us. We were petrified. She smiled :

“Well, please, don’t tell them I save little cactuses from nasty dustbins, this would forever alter my precious street cred and my scary reputation... my best tools ! And I need those very tools to make things work with the genius one, the great Holmes.” She blinked at me. Of course, I was the only logical option for being _that_ Rosie.

“So, what are you doing here ?”

As neither of us were able to speak a word, Molly did the voice-over : “just visiting”.

She smiled and put her copies down. Doing so she had to turn to her desk and showed us the back of her head on which, just at the edge of the nape, it was to be read, in a super stylish writing : “ _Ain’t I a Woman ?”_

Stella couldn’t repress a giggle : “Keep breathing girls !”

At that moment, Greg Lestrade went out of his office, a handwritten note in his hand. He stepped closer and laid it on the clerk’s desk. He was all "smiley".

“Little miss Rosie Watson ! What a pleasure !”

He shook my hand.

“And you are ?”

He looked at Kiara and Yifan who shyly introduced themselves :

“Kiara McKallay, Sir.”

“Yifan Li, Mister.”

“And I am Chief Inspector Lestrade. Call me Greg, that’s all right. So you’re friends of Rosie ?”

“Yes…”

Stella rose an eyebrow : “What do you want them to be ?”

Greg Lestrade backed away, rising his hands : “Well, I don’t know, little Rosie could actually swing the same way as her parents and, well, date girls, or whatever… or… well… wait… actually… if she swings like her dads… she should be dating boys, isn’t it ?”

Molly, Stella and Sally Donovan just looked at him, a bit braindead alike. He tried an explanation :

“Well I mean, her dads date boys, don’t they ? So if she was like them, she would also date boys… no ? Or… do you have to consider that if she were like her dads, she should be a homosexual and therefore date girls ? God this is complicated… “

All three of them were still staring at him.

“Oh come on, ladies, I’m a silly white straight cis bloke in his late-fifties, even worse, I’m your boss… help the Patriarchy to understand the matter here…”

Sally Donovan and Stella just burst into laughter. Molly smiled. Greg Lestrade looked happy : so ?

Neither Kiara nor Yifan nor myself had understood the joke.

Stella tried a response :

“God, Greg, on the first hand, if that has to be discussed, I think Doctor Watson identifies as bisexual. So… this makes it all even more complicated.”

Sally Donovan tried an explanation : “Don’t worry girls, our Chief Inspector might seem to perfectly embody the Patriarchy but we took good care of his education. He has become a perfectly respectable ally.”

It seemed to be the same joke following up but this was completely out of reach. Molly got it : “Stella, Sally…I think they just don’t understand a single word of all your feminist slang…”

“Well, never too late to get drawn into it ! How about learning about stuff while eating a pizza ?”

Stella looked at Molly :

“You’re the Godmother, you’re the one in charge, you decide. Is pizza appropriate ?”

Kiara, Yifan and I just shout out loud : “WELL AND NOBODY ASKS US ????”

All three of them laughed very hard. Even Greg Lestrade smiled.

Stella opened one of her drawers : “So you have found your voices back, then ! So, pizza ?”

We nodded. She looked at Greg Lestrade and he nodded too.

***

**Sunday - 24/02/2030**

Today I kind of spent the whole day working for that *** Chinese vocabulary test we have tomorrow. I don’t want to mess up the same way I messed up last time. Daddy wasn’t quite happy about it but as he had just spent three days sleeping at Harry’s while Sherlock was doing drugs, he didn’t worry THAT much about my failed test.

However, even if this is VERY important, it’s just soooo hard to concentrate properly after the day we had yesterday !!!

Well, Stella ordered some pizza for everyone and while we were waiting for the delivery, Greg Lestrade suggested to take us to the roof, to show us the view. Sally Donovan had some paper work to finish and Stella and Molly were waiting for the pizzas so we just went all four of us.

I very often hear about Greg Lestrade but I hardly ever get a chance to meet him. Only occasionally, on big birthdays or when sometimes, there is a HUGE emergency on a Sunday evening or so. He is always very polite and he always stops by at Mrs H.’s but he never talks very much.

When we reached the roof, all three of us were *mindblown*.

*MINDBLOWN*

Somehow, without me really noticing, I found myself quite close to Greg Lestrade, Yifan and Kiara being a bit further away. He gently asked how my parents were. I shrugged. I didn’t really know. I still don’t really know. But… (I already said that I should join a chess club..) I decided to play the dummy :

“Well they keep talking about a roof jump from Saint Bart Hospital and about a Jim Moriarty dude and an Irene Adler lady. I don’t know. It’s all sad and heavy. Sherlock has been doing drugs and that’s not good for my adoption and…”

God this might have been a bit over-reacted, especially the part about the drugs and the adoption. Where did those tears suddenly come from ?

Greg Lestrade gently handed me a handkerchief. A true old fashioned white handkerchief made of cotton. He smiled.

“Don’t worry about the drugs. None of us will let that become a thing. That’s the point in having somewhat powerful friends… You can organize a bit around law. Inspector Donovan is not very fond of the idea but, damn it, that woman is human too, despite her sayings. I mean, she married Philip Anderson… that should be proof enough that she can be silly, that she has her weaknesses and her soft points. And even if she might not stand your parents… she still is able to understand that all three of you don’t need additional shit to fill your baskets. So, don’t worry. This is fine.”

“Why doesn’t she like my parents ?”

“Well… it has never clicked between Holmes and her. That’s it.”

“And with Daddy ?”

“Ah. Well… Inspector Donovan gets really sensitive as soon any violence she is confronted with tend to show some similarity to domestic abuse. And your parents had an incident, 13 years ago and…”

“Well, yes, Daddy beat the shit out of Sherlock, I heard them talk about this.”

He went silent.

He took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Your John Dad lost it all over your Holmes Dad. I didn’t really pay attention at that time, because well… I was unaware of certain realities but thank the Lordess -he smiled-, my two Inspectors were quite quick to teach me one or two things about life in general and domestic abuse in particular, and Inspector Donovan really did a great job with your Holmes Dad.”

“Well, I though Molly and Stella…”

“Prof. Hooper and Inspector Hopkins were involved regarding your custody and your well-being at some point. And in the end… your John Dad found his way back into sanity and was able to handle his… I don’t how do you call that… his lover ? His partner ? Well, Holmes, and his daughter, meaning you… and your Holmes Dad found somehow his way out of his addictions and… here we are, you will soon be a family. That’s great.”

“And Jim Moriarty ? Do you know him ?”

“Well, which cop doesn’t know him… he was a freaking powerful criminal. And as your Holmes Dad is a freaking powerful detective… Moriarty decided to set a contest. And he managed to use Holmes big fault, his seemingly way of always showing off and his bad habit of taking everyone either for too dumb or for too smart, and trapped him. He turned the press and the public against him, he isolated him. My crew doubted... I doubted... and in the end, everyone was convinced he was a fraud and the trap was so well setled that... Holmes only solution to save John, Mrs Hudson and, as it seems, myself, was to jump from that roof."

"How were you in danger ?"

"Because Moriarty had hired some snipers to shoot us if he didn't jump. And as everyone was thinking of him as a lyer and a fraud... there was nobody he could reach out for help."

"But..."

"Yes, but there still was Prof. Hooper. Nobody had thought of her. She helped him to trick Moriarty and so he didn't really die. He didn't want to tell us because he wanted to protect us... especially your John Dad."

"So he went to Serbia ?"

"Well, little miss Rosie, I'm not actually sure if I should tell you all that..."

"I overheard an argument... I kind of already know all of this but... it's not clear. And I don't dare to ask my parents. They are so under pressure right now..."

"Well, yeah. Seems logical. It's a bit hard to get over such a mess... well... So Holmes went to Serbia in order to dismantel Moriarty's net and I guess he lost track of time. Well and meaningwhile, your John Dad met your Mum and everything went really complicated. However… Moriarty almost won but in the end, it seems that Holmes was stronger. It’s a dark story, you shouldn’t worry about it. It's done. The past has to be left in the past. No need to call some old ghosts back into life.”

“You mean my Dad killed him ?”

(Cool... a THIRD version of the same event... *eyes roll*)

“Who knows ? Officially, it was a car crash, period. But then, Mycroft Holmes works for the Government so…”

“Mycroft ? My uncle ?”

“Yes, himself.”

“What’s the point with him ?”

“Well, he sometimes hire Holmes on delicate missions for the Government and in exchange… might, sometimes, when it suits the country’s needs, arrange a bit the “official version” of things.”

“Like Irene Adler’s death ?”

If he was surprised, he didn't show it : “Yeah, like that. Government does sometimes help people who put themselves into danger for the Government’s sake, to disappear. I guess such a thing is completely at Mycroft Holmes’s reach.”

“But what did she do ?”

“God, girl… who knows ? She was, at some point, for all I got to know, involved with that Moriarty bloke.”

I just tried not to faint.

Greg Lestrade noticed I went pale : “are you all right Rosie ?”

“I’m just hungry…”

“Well yes, it’s about time, let’s see were the pizzas are.”

He called Kiara and Yifan and all four of us went down into the office where Stella, Sally Donovan and Molly had prepared a cosy picnic area.

The meal turned out to be GREAT.

All four adults had many stories to tell about my dads when they were young and when everyone was thinking of them as a couple though they weren’t. We also learned about Bell Hooks, Iggy Pop, Robin Williams, Batman, Bayard Rustin, Marie Curie, Marry Poppins, Alan Turing, The Lord of the Rings movies, the Monty Python, the Brexit frim 2017, the Scottish Independence from 2019 and third wave feminism.

And as, at some point, Sally Donovan and Greg Lestrade had actual stuff to do, we went all three with Stella and Molly to the movie theater and watched the latest Disney movie about the singing frog who wants to settle on the moon. Was quite funny.

So… I have to learn for that Chinese test now.

***

**Monday - 25/02/2030**

I MASTERIZED MY CHINESE TEST !!!!

And also… tonight Kiara and I will sleep at Yifan's. We need the internet. They gathered too much information. In addition to what I got from Greg Lestrade… we NEED to fix it quite quick.

Ow… and right now, I’m going out, having some coffee with… J. and H.

YES, there are winged hearts flapping all around in my stomach. 

*giggle giggle*

Ow... and Janine answered.


End file.
